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KENILWORTH. 

No scandal about Queen Elizabeth, I hope ? 

The Critic 




















* 








































SnUreto Hang Utution 


Kenilworth ♦ ♦ <*> 

*$» By Sir Walter Scott, Bart. 


With Introductory Essay and Notes 
by Andrew Lang ^ Illustrated 



Dana Estes & Company 
jt s j* •* Publishers 
Boston •*•*•*•*•*•*•*•* 


Copyright, 1893 
By Estes & Lauriat 


3 f v 


Sntirrtn Hang lEtittion. 


LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 


KENILWORTH. 

Volume I. 

Lambourne at the Inn 
Leicester parting from Amy 
Raleigh sacrificing his Cloak . 


PAGE 

Frontispiece 

. 113 

. 240 


Volume II. 

Amy and the Pedlar *35 

Tressilian yielding his Room to Amy . .148 






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EDITOR’S INTRODUCTION 


TO 

KENILWORTH. 


The origin of “ Kenilworth ” is well known. Mr. 
Irving, Scott’s friend in boyhood, and in a writer’s 
office, says: “After the labours of the day were over, 
we often walked in the meadows” — a large grassy 
space adjoining old Mr. Scott’s house in George’s 
Square — “especially in the moonlight nights; and 
he seemed never weary of repeating the first stanza of 
Mickle’s ballad — 

The dews of summer night did fall ; 

The moon, sweet regent of the sky, 

Silver'd the walls of Cumnor Hall, 

And many an oak that grew thereby." 

(Lockhart, i. 132.) 

When Constable, after “The Abbot,’' requested that 
a picture of Elizabeth might follow that of Mary, 
Scott’s memory went back to the magical verse of the 
ballad. Constable wished him to write on the affair 
of the Armada, suggesting that as a title, but Sir 
Walter was true to his old love. Constable himself 
insisted, against Scott’s wish, on “Kenilworth,” 
rather than “Cumnor Hall,” as the name of the tale. 
John Ballantyne said the result “would be something 
worthy of the kennel,” “but Constable had all reason 
to be satisfied with the child of his christening” 
(Lockhart, vi. 267). Constable had, at first, wanted 
a tale of the Puritans in the reign of Charles I. 


X 


EDITOR’S INTRODUCTION TO 


Scott objected that the Puritans were nothing without 
their scriptural language, to which canting hypocrites 
objected, as in the case of “ Old Mortality. ” “Yet 
I would not wish to offend any good soul who had a 
real scruple on this head.” Later, in “Woodstock,” 
he reconsidered the matter. 

The success of Constable’s suggestions, and his very 
valuable aid in collecting rare books and tracts, puffed 
him up so, that, according to Lockhart, “he used to 
stalk up and down his room and exclaim, ‘By G — , 
I am all but the author of the Waverley Novels . ’ 99 
On June 14, 1822, Constable wrote to Cadell, “I 
am sometimes half tempted to believe that of those 
books I am myself all but the author. You may ac- 
cuse me of vanity, but this I hold to be true.” There 
is great virtue in an “all but.” This remark Mr. 
Constable, in his Life of his father, thinks “may per- 
haps have been the origin of the exaggerated utter- 
ance published by Mr. Lockhart.” Constable may 
surely have said, at times, what he thought, and com- 
mitted to writing. 1 

About this time Sir Walter was much harassed by 
bores. On one day sixteen parties, all uninvited, 
visited Abbotsford. Rather later, in January 1825, 
Basil Hall stayed in the house, and, in his diary, 
reckoned up Scott’s pace in working. He himself, 
unknown to every one, was keeping a journal. In ten 
days he wrote 120 pages, “ about 108 pages of 4 Kenil- 
worth.’” There are 320 pages in a volume, so that, 
at this rate, a volume would be written in a month. 
Hall was much less frequently absent from the gene- 
ral society than Scott (who, however, had many other 
calls on his time), and he concluded that, in two hours 
before breakfast daily, Scott could, undetected, write 
all his novels. Hfe did not allow for preliminary 
1 “ Archibald Constable,” iii. 140. 


KENILWORTH. 


xi 


study, which was, in a tale like “ Kenilworth,” a 
matter of considerable research. Moreover, Scott was 
editing a Novelists* Library, with biographies of 
authors, in the interests of John Ballantyne and his 
widow — for John died on June 16, 1821, and Scott 
“felt as if there would be less sunshine for him from 
this day forth.” “ Kenilworth” was published in the 
first or second week of January 1821, “in three vol- 
umes post 8vo, like ‘Tvanhoe,* which form was ad- 
hered to with all the subsequent novels of the series. 
*■ Kenilworth * was one of the most successful of them 
all at the time of publication ” (Lockhart, vi. 294). 
Scott had only been reading his materials in September 
1820. He did not then even know his heroine’s name, 
for he writes (Sept. 10, 1820) from Abbotsford, ask- 
ing Constable, “what was the name of Dudley Earl 
of Leicester’s first wife, whom he was supposed to have 
murdered at Cumnor Hall in Berkshire? ... I have 
no book here which contains the information.” He 
also asks for facts about Cumnor. “I like to be as 
minutely local as I can.” (“Archibald Constable,” 
iii. 148.) 

The following paragraphs should, in justice to 
“Kenilworth,” be skipped by the reader, if any such 
reader there be, who may have followed the introduc- 
tion so far, but has not yet made acquaintance with 
the novel. The truth about Amy Robsart was not 
known when Scott wrote, and the truth, as far as it has 
been ascertained, is more extraordinary, and suggests 
deeper and stranger mysteries, than anything in the 
romance. 

Scott always treated history in his romances much 
as Turner treated nature. He composed, arranged, 
and selected with a perfect disregard of inconvenient 
facts and dates. Hi story, or historical tradition, 
offered him as a topic the death of the wife of a noble 


xii EDITOR’S INTRODUCTION TO 

who was wooing the Queen of England. The story 
tfial "Leicester’s wife was murdered had always been 
current, in an age when every notable decease, as later 
of Prince Henry and of Charles II. , was attributed to 
poison or violence. Here, then, was Scott’s, theme. 
On one side he handles it with the utmost frankness 
and candour. He had no love of Queen Elizabeth, 
but he admits “no scandal” about her: except for 
coquetry and masterfulness, the character of Queen 
Mary’s gaoler stands out unimpeachably pure in 
“Kenilworth.” Yet, as we shall see, a malignant 
novelist, or even a prejudiced historian, might have 
blackened the fame of Elizabeth deeper than the fame 
of her rival and victim is darkened by the Casket 
Letters. If Elizabeth had a guilty knowledge of the 
intended slaying of Leicester’s wife,, of Amy Robsart, 
then her conduct is precisely parallel to Mary’s, if 
Mary wrote the Casket Letters, or, rather, Elizabeth 
is the worse of the pair, for Amy Robsart had not 
given her, as Darnley gave Mary, cause for deadly 
hatred. Let us hasten to disclaim the belief that 
Elizabeth was “art and part” in Amy’s murder, if 
murdered Amy was. She merely flirted and passed 
long days with a married man, whose wife died in 
singular circumstances; she merely continued to be- 
stow her favour on him whom Mr. Froude calls “the 
most worthless ” of her subjects. That is probably 
the extent of Elizabeth’s levity. Scott might have 
indicated this distinctly, he might have pressed the 
charge, and in so doing would only have taken a late 
revenge for Mary Stuart. But his nature was far too 
noble — he could not believe in the aspersions on 
Elizabeth ; nay, he goes out of his way in her favour 
so far as to make her ignorant of Leicester’s marriage, 
and of Amy’s existence. Of both Elizabeth, of course, 
was well aware. While Sgott treats the English 


KENILWORTH. 


Kill 

Queen so gallantly, he arranges and selects his facts 
with an unfettered artist’s hand. At the date of the 
story, Mary has been for seven years Elizabeth’s 
prisoner. She lied into England in 1568, so this 
brings us to 1575 ; Alengon is expected in England; 
that takes us to 1579. Yet Shakspeare is already 
about the Court, and has written “ The Tempest” 
and “ Midsummer Night’s Dream.” Here, of course, 
events are much anticipated. Again, Amy Robsart 
died in September 1560, long before Mary fled to Eng- 
land after Langside; long before Shakspeare wrote a 
line. Our modern punctiliousness prevents novelists 
from composing their facts so freely, and a writer 
of to-day, after explaining all the strange business 
at Cumnor Hall, would produce a very different, yet 
not necessarily an uninteresting, romance, for the 
facts, discovered since Scott’s day, are stranger than 
fiction. 

The charges against Leicester were best known from 
“Leicester’s Commonwealth,” a partisan lampoon by 
Parsons the Jesuit, published abroad, and smuggled 
into England in 1585. 1 Scott’s own copy of the book 
was a reprint of 1641, when scandals against kings 
were welcome to rebels. What a Jesuit said about 
Queen Elizabeth and her favourites, concerning a scan- 
dal twenty years old, is hardly evidence. But contem- 
porary, though hearsay, evidence has been discovered 
by Mr. Froude, in the archives of Spain. 2 In the first 
place, as early as April 18 and 29, 1559, De Feria, then 
Spanish Ambassador, writes to Philip about Elizabeth, 
“They tell me that she is enamoured of my Lord Robert 

1 In Domestic State Papers — Elizabeth, xxviii. 1 1 3, Mr. Rye 
finds: “As the lady was in the country, playing with her ladies 
at tables, she left the room, fell down stairs, and broke her neck : 
being thrown down by order of her lord, but he gave out it was 
by chance, and no man durst say the contrary.” 

2 Froude, “ History,” vii. 277-281. 


xiv 


EDITOR’S INTRODUCTION TO 


Dudley, and will never let him from her side. . . . He 
is in such favour that people say she visits him in his 
chamber, day and night. Nay, it is even reported that 
his wife has a cancer on the breast, and that the Queen 
only waits till she dies to marry him.” (Froude, 
“ Reign of Elizabeth,” vol. i., London 1863.) These 
are mere reports — “ they say ” — and nothing is given 
on De Feria’s own evidence, save that “ Dudley offers 
his services in behalf of the Archduke, hut I doubt 
whether it will be well to use them.” The rumour 
that Amy is dying of cancer does not point to any 
murderous design, as that disease could not he counter- 
feited, but poison, and a divorce, had already been ru- 
moured of. Leicester had married Amy in the reign 
of Edward VI., when he himself was only nineteen. 
Mr. Froude thinks (op. cit., i. 85) that Cecil wrote of 
this marriage as nuptice carnales , a marriage of sensual 
passion. The passage is printed in the same volume 
(pp. 282, 283, note 3), and it appears that Cecil is only 
using a general reflection. He is balancing, in 1566, 
the merits of the Archduke Carlos against those of 
Leicester as a husband for Elizabeth, as regards “ like- 
lihood to love his wife.” Of Carlos he can only judge 
by example of his father, Ferdinando; of Leicester he 
writes, “Nuptise carnales a lsetitia incipiunt, et in 
luctu terminantur” — “ Marriages of carnal affection 
begin in joy, and end in woe.” This may be a refer- 
ence to Leicester’s first marriage; or may not nuptice 
carnales refer to the passion of Elizabeth, with its prob- 
able termination ? However this may be, in August 
1560 we find Cecil very unhappy, out of favour, cast in 
the shade by Leicester, and dreading worse. He com- 
municates his regrets and fears to Randolph, in Edin- 
burgh. On Sept. 11, when the death of Amy Robsart 
at Cumnor Hall (Sept. 8, 1560) was known in London, 
Cecil wrote again to Randolph. We have not his letter, 


KENILWORTH. 


XV 


but Randolph’s reply of Sept. 23 is extant. “The 
first word that I read of your letter of the 11th of this 
present [month], conferring it with such bruits and 
slanderous reports as have been maliciously reported by 
the French and their faction, so passioned my heart 
that no grief I ever felt was like unto it.” Randolph 
therefore “keeps your letters from all. It is yet no 
time to cast such doubts.” 

What doubts ? Clearly, as to whether Amy was 
murdered or not, that Elizabeth might marry Leicester, 
and, perhaps, as to whether Elizabeth was implicated. 1 

By a curious combination of circumstances, Elizabeth’s 
character has suffered obloquy which seems undeserved. 
There exists, at Simancas, a letter of De Quadra, the 
Spanish Ambassador, to the Duchess of Parma, and this 
letter, as given in Mr. Froude’s History, has caused 
grave misapprehension. In the History it is headed 
“September 11,” but the date, in the original, is 
placed at the end, and it is plain that the note was 
written on different days, and only finished on the 
11th. In this letter De Quadra begins by stating his 
intention to communicate “great and unexpected mat- 
ters.” First, “ on the 3rd of this rrwnth the Queen 
spoke to me about her marriage with the Archduke. 
She said that she had made up her mind to marry, and 
that the Archduke was the man. She has just now told 
me drily that she does not mean to marry, and that it 
cannot be. After my conversation with the Queen , I met 
the Secretary, Cecil,” and Cecil said that he meant to 
retire, that Dudley “had made himself master of the 
business of the state, and of the person of the Queen . . . 
and she herself was shutting herself up in the palace, to 
the peril of her health and life. . . . Last of all, he said 
that they were thinking of destroying Lord Robert’s 
wife. They had given out that she was very ill, but 

1 Eroude, i. 277. 


xvi 


EDITORS INTRODUCTION TO 


she was not ill at all; she was very well, and taking 
care not to be poisoned. . . . The day after this con- 
versation, the Queen told me, on her return from hunt- 
ing, that Lord Robert’s wife was dead or nearly so, and 
begged me to say nothing about it.” 

Now, the inferences naturally drawn from this letter, 
as it stands in Mr. Froude’s book, are very awkward. 
We understand the Queen to have told De Quadra, on 
Sept. 3, that she will marry the Archduke. Afterwards 
(that is, on the same day), Cecil says they are about 
poisoning Amy Robsart. ' “The day after” (Sept. 4) 
the Queen says that Amy is “dead, or nearly so,” yet 
Amy does not die till Sept. 8, and then by violence. 
It would seem, then, either that Elizabeth had received 
false information, or that she had a guilty foreknowledge 
of Amy’s murder. In the “ Historical Review ” (i. 242) 
Mr. James Gairdner argued that the letter of De Quadra 
was not begun on the 11th, that the conversation with 
the Queen was that in which she said that she did not 
mean to marry, not the conversation of Sept. 3; that by 
“after my conversation with the Queen ” De Quadra 
meant, not on Sept. 3, but some days later (say the 
8th or 9tli), and that “ the day after this conversation ” 
is not Sept. 4, when Amy was alive, but a day after her 
death* when the Queen had heard of the actual event. 
On the other side the Editor argued, in “Blackwood’s 
Magazine ” (February 1893) that the dates as they 
seemed to stand, and as Mr. Walter Rye accepted 
them, were: Sept. 3, the Queen says she will marry 
the Archduke, Cecil speaks of poison. The day after 
is Sept. 4, the Queen announces Amy’s death before it 
occurs. In the “Athenaeum,” Feb. 18, 1893, Mr. 
Gairdner, replying to the Editor’s article, shows that 
Mr. Froude had, by a slip of the pen, written “the 3rd 
of this month” for “the 3rd of last month” (tres del 
passado ), and that the whole question is absolutely 


KENILWORTH. 


xvii 


changed. It was, as other evidence shows, on Aug. 3 
that the Queen said she would marry the Archduke. 
The conversation “ just now” with the Queen is that 
in which she said she would not marry. The talk with 
Cecil about poison is on the same day. That day is 
undated. On the day following, the Queen tells De 
Quadra that Amy is “dead, or nearly so,” certainly a 
suspicious way of stating a plain fact. The Queen, if 
at Windsor, where Dudley was, might hear of Amy’s 
death on the 9th. It may have been on the 9th, or 10th, 
that she announced it, after the event, to De Quadra. 
He may have begun his letter on the 8th, or 9th. It 
cannot have been earlier, because it was the day after 
the talk with Cecil and the Queen that Elizabeth an- 
nounced the death of Amy, which she cannot have heard 
of before the 9th. The matter is obscure, because De 
Quadra begins by expressing his intention to communi- 
cate many great and unexpected matters which have 
taken place. These are : the Queen’s refusal to marry, 
Cecil’s discontent and talk of poison, Amy’s death. 
The last is the greatest, but, apparent^, he had only 
the two former in his mind. For he says, “ She has 
just now told me that she does not mean to marry,” 
and “just now” must be the day of writing. Later 
he says, “ the day after this conversation ” : that must 
be written on a later day, when he knows of Amy’s 
death. On this showing, Amy’s death was not one of 
the great and unexpected matters about which he began 
to write. Probably, on this system, the letter was 
finished on the 11th, in two parts : in the last he says, 
“since this was written the Queen has given out the 
death of Lord Robert’s wife,” publicly, for at first she 
“begged me to say nothing about it.” Thus con- 
sidered, the Queen did not mention the death before it 
occurred, as had been supposed. The mistranslation 
of “the third of this month” for “the third of last 


xviii EDITOR’S INTRODUCTION TO 

month” furnished a wrong system of dates. We should 
suppose that, on the 8th or 9th, De Quadra had his 
meetings with the Queen and Cecil, and began his 
letter. On the 9th or 10th, the Queen told him 
secretly that Amy was “dead, or nearly so.” On 
the 11th he finished his letter. It will be observed 
that the circumstances are not pleasant, at best. On 
Aug. 3 the Queen promises to marry the Archduke. 
She is, according to Cecil on Sept. 8, or 9, moping 
for love, and shut up in the house, to the danger of her 
health. On the same 8th or 9th she has changed her 
mind — she will not marry, and Cecil says they “are 
about to poison Dudley’s wife.” Next day, the Queen 
has heard that her lover, Dudley, is a free man, that 
her rival is no more. Far from moping in the house, 
she now goes out hunting, and tells De Quadra that 
Amy is “dead, or nearly so.” And this is the day 
after she has declared that she will not marry the Arch- 
duke. As to the manner of the death, Elizabeth, ac- 
cording to De Quadra, said, “ Que si ha rotto il collo ” 
(She has broken her neck). Mr. Gairdner attributes 
this accident to “ a too hasty rush down stairs,” down a 
steep corkscrew staircase, such as existed in Cumnor 
Place. The singular point is that her body was left 
lying where it fell, till her servants returned, probably 
rather late, from Abingdon. Perhaps Amy was playing 
at tables, with her ladies, rather late. She leaves the 
room, does not return, they go to bed, thinking that 
she has done the same, unattended; the death is not 
discovered till the servants return. All this is un- 
usual, and, as talk of attempts on her life was current, 
it unavoidably caused suspicion. 

If Elizabeth’s case were treated as Mary’s had been, 
it might go hard with her. But surely she might have 
been told that Amy was ill, or nearly dead, without 
being a partner to a conspiracy. If we presume her 


KENILWORTH. 


xix 


not to have been ignorant of the prevalent suspicion 
against Dudley, then she is in the very same case as 
Mary, if Mary did not write Letter II. of the Casket 
Letters. For we have no such correspondence of Eliza- 
beth with Dudley. 

Dudley’s own behaviour after the event was compat- 
ible with innocence. He was at Windsor, and had just 
sent Thomas Blount (called “Mr.” and “ Sir Thomas ”) 
to Cumnor, on the morning of Sept. 9. Why Blount 
was sent we know not. Soon after leaving Windsor, 
Blount met one Bower, riding to Dudley, with news 
that Amy was dead, had broken her neck by a fall 
“down a pair of stairs.” Blount rode on, and passed 
the night at Abingdon. Here, not being recognised as 
a retainer of Dudley’s, he asked the host of his inn 
“What news?” The host told him of Amy’s death 
by a fall “down a pair of stairs.” He added that 
Amy was said to have risen early on the 8th, and sent 
her servants to Abingdon Fair. A Mrs. Odingsell de- 
clined to go, at which Amy was angry. She meant to 
dine with Mrs. Owen, wife of Dr. Owen, owner of Cum- 
noi 1 Hall, of which Forster was tenant. The servants, 
returning from Abingdon, found Amy dead at the foot 
of the stair. The matter was “diversely” spoken of: 
some were disposed to say well, and some evil. Fors- 
ter’s honesty “doth much curb the evil thoughts of the 
people.” Later, Blount saw Pinto, Amy’s maid (who 
must have been at Abingdon), and who judged that the 
death came by mischance. She had several times heard 
Amy pray God to be delivered from “ desperation,” but 
Mrs. Pinto rejected the idea of suicide. Blount judged 
Amy to have been “of strange mind.” Dudley’s re- 
plies show the greatest and most sincere anxiety to sift 
the affair to the bottom. He even demands the sum- 
moning of a second jury. (The letters are printed 
from the Pepys collection, in Magdalene College, Cam- 


XX 


EDITOR S INTRODUCTION TO 


bridge. Pepys got them from John Evelyn. They will 
be found in Lord Braybrooke’s “ Pepys’s Diary,” vol. i., 
in an appendix.) 

Did the first coroner not investigate “ fully 99 ? He 
invited his wife’s half-brother, Appleyard, and bastard 
brother, Arthur Robsart, to be present at the inquiry. 
He did not go there himself, perhaps fearing to be 
accused of exercising undue influence. 

Mr. Gairdner concludes that “there is really nothing 
very mysterious in the case.” Here we cannot follow 
him. A person whom Cecil believes to be fighting for 
her life, taking precautions against poison, dies by an 
accident only too convenient. A person said to be 
very ill runs like a lively girl down a corkscrew 
staircase. All this is suspicious. 

Dudley seems to have incurred some disfavour. In 
September 1560 he writes asking Cecil to help him to 
“liberty out of so great bondage.” “I am sorry so 
sudden a chance should breed me so great a change.” 
Cecil and Dudley are apparently reconciled: Cecil is 
even reconciled to his marking Elizabeth. In 1566 
Cecil says of Leicester, “he is infamed by the death of 
his wife,” which may only mean that there is a public 
suspicion of him. There remains the very curious tale 
of John Appleyard, Amy’s half-brother. 

In 1567 Appleyard was examined before Cecil and 
several nobles, on a charge of maligning Leicester. 
He told a story of a mysterious stranger, who met him 
secretly, and offered him £4000 to make charges 
against Leicester. He refused the bribe, he said, and 
mentioned the matter to Leicester’s retainer, Thomas 
Blount. He confessed to having babbled about an 
insufficient inquiry, and the possibility of discovering 
the murderers, though he held the Earl innocent. One 
Tryndell, also examined, said that Appleyard “used 
words of anger, and said . . . that he had for the 


KENILWORTH. 


xxS 

Earl’s sake covered the murder of his sister.” (The 
manuscript is at Hatfield, and is printed in “ Historical 
Review,” i. 249-251, and, for the first time, in Mr. 
Rye’s “ Murder of Amy Robsart, ” London 1885.) Mr. 
Gairdner admits that Appleyard had used words about 
the death of his sister which he was “ afterwards ” 
(when in prison) “ glad to explain away.” Appleyard’s 
evidence on each side is tainted. He was Amy’s half-, 
brother ; he hung on to Leicester ; he was not as well 
paid as he wanted to be, and he showed inclinations to 
tf blackmail ” his patron. A brother who will cover 
up his sister’s murder cannot be called a trustworthy 
witness ; a man who hankers after blackmail, and mur- 
murs of what he could say, an he would, is a scoundrel. 
But he withdrew his charges only under stress of bonds 
and hunger. Meanwhile, from a copy of a letter from 
Blount to Leicester, in the Pepys Library at Mag- 
dalene, Cambridge, we gather that Leicester was very 
anxious about Blount and his talk. (Published by 
Mr. Gairdner, op. cit., p. 251.) Appleyard, in his 
examination, mentioned having told Blount the story 
of a mysterious stranger, and his large offers. Blount 
was asked by the Council to give his version. Blount 
told the Council that Leicester, “unquiet,” had sent 
for Appleyard, who would not come, but who told 
Blount himself about the stranger, concerning whose 
name he was sworn to secrecy, but whom (so highly did 
Appleyard value his oath) he would point out in the 
street. He went on to tell Blount that he had dis- 
dained the offers of the stranger. Finally Blount 
brought Appleyard and Leicester together. What 
they said is unknown, but Leicester was in violent 
anger — “ if they had been alone, my lord would have 
drawn his sword upon him, and with great words of 
defiance bade him depart.” Finally Appleyard was 
placed in Fleet Prison, where he was allowed to see 


xxii 


EDITOR’S INTRODUCTION TO 


the verdict of the jury on Amy’s body, and — as was 
very natural — expressed his perfect belief that her 
death was caused by an accident, “ as testified by 
proofs under the oaths of fifteen persons.” Who were 
they, as Amy’s servants were absent when she fell 
down stairs? Fifteen persons did not witness that oc- 
currence. Appleyard had been in prison for a month, 
and had not money left to buy two meals, so he made 
an abject apology, worth about as much as a confession 
under torture. 

Finally, in 1585, when Parsons’s tract appeared, 
Elizabeth declared “in her own clear knowledge” that 
her favourite was innocent. So we have Elizabeth’s 
word for it, which is exactly on a par with Mary’s 
denial of having written the Casket Letters. As to 
Appleyard, his conduct and evidence are suspicious. 
He certainly alarmed and bearded Leicester; he as cer- 
tainly pleaded guilty of falsehood, and denied his own 
accusations, under stress of ruin, gaol, and hunger. 
There is always a chance that Leicester’s agent forgot 
the maxim, point de zele , and murdered Amy Robsart 
without his privity. 1 This is very like the conclusion 
of the novel. Leicester’s conduct, after the death of 
Amy, seems absolutely consistent with innocence. On 
the other hand, whence, save from Leicester, could 
Elizabeth have learned that Amy was “dead, or nearly 
dead,” four days before her death? It would be strange 
if the real explanation of the mystery were Sir Wal- 
ter’s — namely, that Leicester meant to slay Amy, 
that he relented, and that his minions passed beyond 
their commission, and murdered her. This theory, at 
least, would cover all the facts of the case. But no 

1 The curious may consult Canon Jackson’s article favourable 
to Leicester, in the “Nineteenth Century,” March 1882, Mr. 
Rye’s “ The Murder of Amy Robsart ” (London 1885), Bartlett’s 
“ History of Cumnor Place,” and Adlard’s “ Amye Robsart.” 


KENILWORTH. 


xxiii 


tittle of evidence against Forster and Verney has been 
discovered. The records of the coroner’s jury, and the 
Book of the Privy Council for the period, can nowhere 
be found. 

The least grateful part of the editorial task is the 
criticism of the Waverley Novels. To those who think 
that Scott is best in Scotland, and who welcome the one 
phrase of a Border sentinel in the festivities at Kenil- 
worth, this novel can never seem in the first rank among 
its sisters. The hero Tressilian is, in the language of 
1830, un beau tenebreur , and nothing more. We have 
actually two replicas of Dominie Sampson, in Master 
Mumblazen, and in the pedantic tutor of Flibbertigib- 
bet. Save for the humour of that “fine natural black- 
guard,” Michael Lambourne, the opening of the story 
is heavier than most of Scott’s openings, before he has 
warmed to his work. The descriptions of Tudor pa- 
geants, delaying us at the very nodus of the tale, are 
apt to weary, though they serve their purpose as a 
dramatic contrast. Flibbertigibbet was much praised, 
but his habit of being always round the corner, like 
Edie Ochiltree, taxes credulity. On the. other hand, 
perhaps not one of Scott’s royal people, though he al- 
ways excels in his kings, is more imperial in her 
royalty, more womanly in her leonine passion, than 
Elizabeth. The scene with Sussex and Leicester is a\ 
dramatic masterpiece, only equalled, if equalled at all, 
by that other scene at Kenilworth, when she meets 
Amy, and fronts her recreant wo'oer. The unexpected 
peripeties , and the confusions of that exciting day, in 
places border almost on the embroilments of farce. 
Every one is at cross purposes of a sort which are 
usually ludicrous, and the impending horror is not 
always felt. In Varney, Scott presents us with the 
character nearest to Iago of any in romance, and the 
villain’s power and resource are so great as almost to ex* 


xxiv 


EDITOR’S INTRODUCTION TO 


tort admiration, while Michael Lambourne occasionally 
affects us like Paroles. We half forgive him for his 
humour, for his last words about not dying in his shoes. 
The heroine, the unhappy Amy, shines out among the 
usual unfortunate ladies of fiction — Lucy Ashton, for 
instance — by her fire and spirit ; she is no milk-and- 
water maiden, but as true and tender in love as she is gay 
in leisure, and proudly defiant in th6 face of danger and 
dishonour. Leicester himself, in his beauty, arrogance, 
and helpless shiftlessness of purpose, is probably an ac- 
curate portrait, especially if it be possible that he medi- 
tated his wife’s death, and then relented. The stress 
of paternal affection, in Anthony Foster and old Sir 
Hugh, was remarked by Adolphus, in his “Letters on 
the Waverley Novels,” as characteristic of Sir Walter. 
In Alasco, the dupe of his own impostures, one some- 
times comes perilously near melodrama. On the whole, 
with scenes unrivalled since Shakspeare, *“ Kenil- 
worth” contains a good deal that reminds us how 
Scott’s genius, like his health, needed the sight of the 
heather, and of “his own grey hills.” One sentence 
of Sir Hugh’s, if it stood alone, a solitary fragment, 
would mark the author as a poet: “This grief is to my 
bewildered mind what the church of Lidcote is to our 
park : we may lose ourselves among the briars and 
thickets for a little space, but from the end of each 
avenue we see the old grey steeple and the grave of 
my forefathers. I would I were to travel that road 
to-morrow.” 

Perhaps the most interesting contemporary criticism 
is that of Sydney Smith, writing to Constable (Jan. 26, 
1821): “Very good indeed; there cannot and will not 
be two opinions. The dialogues are a little too long. 
Pray let us have no more Dominie Sampsons — good, 
but stale. These are trifling faults, but the author has 
completely recovered himself, and the novel is excel- 


KENILWORTH. 


x*v 

lent. Flibbertigibbet is very good, and very new 99 
(“ Archibald Constable,’ ’ iii. 149). 

In reviewing “Kenilworth,” the “ Edinburgh Re- 
view ” held that “The task of introducing Elizabeth is 
not only fearlessly but admirably performed, and the 
character brought out, not only with the most unspar- 
ing fulness, but with the most brilliant and seducing 
effect. . . . The deep and disgusting guilt by which 
most of the main incidents are developed make a 
splendid passage of English history read like the New- 
gate Calendar.” 

The Reviewer had not read De Quadra, Cecil, Throg- 
morton, “ Leicester’s Commonwealth,” and the other 
authorities. He greatly praises the pageant at Kenil- 
worth, feeling that the very ennui gives “a sense of 
truth and reality to the sketch.” As to Amy’s cham- 
bers in Cumnor Hall, 1 ‘ we had no idea before that up- 
holstery could be made* so engaging.” Flibbertigibbet 
is “too fantastical and affected.” 

The “Quarterly” was dissatisfied with Elizabeth, 
at least as compared to Mary, and thought that the de- 
fiance of history, the ignorance of topography — “ we 
think he was never at Cumnor ” — detract from the 
interest. Still, Elizabeth “is vivid and magnificent”; 
Leicester “is the best picture extant of the old courtier 
of the Queen, and the Queen’s old courtier.” In Var- 
ney is deplored the absence of any touch of .human 
feeling : he has not less than Iago. Raleigh and 
Blount are “supernumeraries.” In Wayland, Scott 
builds too much “on a legendary hint,” “as if the 
mouse had brought forth the mountain.” The con- 
struction, as in Varney’s gradual building up of the 
charge against Amy, is highly commended. “We are 
unconscious of her danger, till Varney’s rapid recapitu- 
lation lights the train.” The close is of too unbroken 
tragedy. “The immediate circumstances of Amy’s 


xxvi EDITOR’S INTRODUCTION. 

death, as she rushes to meet what she supposes to be 
her husband’s signal, almost pass the limit that di- 
vides pity from horror. It is what Forster calls it, 
‘the seething of the kid in the mother’s milk.’ ” The 
Reviewer entreats the Great Unknown “to write as 
much and as quickly as possible,” yet to bestow a 
little more time and leisure “in concentrating his 
excellences.” 


July 1893. 


Andrew Lang. 


INTRODUCTION 


TO 

KENILWORTH. 

A certain degree of success, real or supposed, in the 
delineation of Queen Mary, naturally induced the au- 
thor to attempt something similar respecting ‘‘her 
sister and her foe,” the celebrated Elizabeth. He will 
not, however, pretend to have approached the task with 
the same feelings; for the candid Robertson himself 
confesses having felt the prejudices with which a Scot- 
tishman is tempted to regard the subject; and what so 
liberal a historian avows, a poor romance-writer dares 
not disown. But he hopes the influence of a prejudice, 
almost as natural to him as his native air, will not be 
found to have greatly affected the sketch he has at- 
tempted of England’s Elizabeth. I have endeavoured 
to describe her as at once a high-minded sovereign, and 
a female of passionate feelings, hesitating betwixt the 
sense of her rank and the duty she owed her subjects 
on the one hand, and on the other her attachment to a 
nobleman, who, in external qualifications at least, am- 
ply merited her favour. The interest of the story is 
thrown upon that period when the sudden death of the 
first Countess of Leicester, seemed to open to the ambi- 
tion of her husband the opportunity of sharing the 
crown of his sovereign. 

It is possible that slander, which very seldom favours 
the memories of persons in exalted stations, may have 
blackened the character of Leicester with darker shades 


xxviii INTRODUCTION TO 

than really belonged to it. But the almost general 
voice of the times attached the most foul suspicions to 
the death of the unfortunate Countess, more especially 
as it took place so very opportunely for the indulgence 
of her lover’s ambition. If we can trust Ashmole’s 
Antiquities of Berkshire, (a) 1 there was but too much 
ground for the traditions which charge Leicester with 
the murder of his wife. In the following extract of 
the passage, the reader will find the authority I had 
for the story of the romance : — 

“ At the west end of the church are the ruins of a manor, 
anciently belonging (as a cell, or place of removal, as some 
report) to the monks of Abington. At the Dissolution, the 

said manor, or lordship, was conveyed to one Owen, (6) 

(I believe,) the possessor of Godstow then. 

“ In the hall, over the chimney, I find Abington arms cut in 
stone, viz. a patonee between four martletts ; and also another 
escutcheon, viz. a lion rampant, and several mitres cut in stone 
about the house. There is also in the said house, a chamber 
called Dudley’s chamber, where the Earl of Leicester’s wife 
was murdered ; of which this is the story following : 

“ Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester, a very goodly person- 
age, and singularly well featured, being a great favourite to 
Queen Elizabeth, it was thought, and commonly reported, that 
had he been a batchelor or widower, the Queen would have 
made him her husband; to this end, to free himself of all 
obstacles, he commands, or perhaps, with fair flattering in- 
treaties, desires his wife to repose herself here at his servant 
Anthony Forster’s house, who then lived in the aforesaid manor- 
house ; and also prescribed to Sir Richard Varney, (c) (a 
prompter to this design,) at his coming hither, that he should 
first attempt to poison her, and if that did not take effect, then 
by any other way whatsoever to dispatch her. This, it seems, 
was proved by the report of Dr. Walter Bayly, sometime fellow 
of New College, then living in Oxford, and professor of physic 
in that university; whom, because he would not consent to 

1 See Editor’s Notes at the end of the Volume. Wherever a 
similar reference occurs, the reader will understand that the same 
direction applies. 


KENILWORTH. 


xxix 

take away her life by poison, the Earl endeavoured to displace 
him the court. This man, it seems, reported for most certain, 
that there was a practice in Cumnor among the conspirators, 
to have poisoned this poor innocent lady, a little before she 
was killed, which was attempted after this manner : — They 
seeing the good lady sad and heavy, (as one that well knew 
by her other handling, that her death was not far off,) began 
to persuade her that her present disease was abundance of 
melancholy and other humours, &c., and therefore would needs 
counsel her to take some potion, which she absolutely refusing 
to do, as still suspecting the worst ; whereupon they sent a 
messenger on a day (unawares to her) for Dr. Bayly, and en- 
treated him to persuade her to take some little potion by his 
direction, and they would fetch the same at Oxford ; meaning 
to have added something of their own for her comfort, as the 
doctor upon just cause and consideration did suspect, seeing 
their great importunity, and the small need the lady had of 
physic, and therefore he peremptorily denied their request ; 
misdoubting, (as he afterwards reported,) lest, if they had 
poisoned her under the name of his potion, he might after have 
been hanged for a colour of their sin, and the doctor remained 
still well assured, that this way taking no effect, she would not 
long escape their violence, which afterwards happened thus. 
For Sir Richard Varney above-said, (the chief projector in this 
design,) who, by the Earl’s order, remained that day of her 
death alone with J^r, ( d ) with one man only and Forster, (<?) 
who had that day forcibly sent away all her servants from 
her to Abington market, about three miles distant from this 
place ; they (I say, whether first stifling her, or else strangling 
her) afterwards flung her down a pair of stairs and broke her 
neck, using much violence upon her; but, however, though it 
was vulgarly reported that she by chance fell down stairs, (but 
still without hurting her hood that was upon her head,) yet 
the inhabitants will tell you there, that she was conveyed from 
her usual chamber where she lay, to another where the bed’s 
head of the chamber stood close to a privy postern door, where 
they in the night came and stifled her in her bed, bruised her 
head very much, broke her neck, and at length flung her down 
stairs, thereby believing the world would have thought it a 
mischance, and so have blinded their villainy. But behold the 
mercy and justice of God in revenging and discovering thix 


XXX 


INTRODUCTION TO 


lady’s murder, for one of the persons that was a coadjutor 
in this murder, was afterwards taken for a felony in the 
inarches of Wales, and offering to publish the manner of the 
aforesaid murder, was privately made away in the prison by 
the Earl’s appointment; and Sir Richard Varney the other, 
dying about the same time in London, cried miserably, and 
blasphemed God, and said to a person of note, (who hath re- 
lated the same to others since,) not long before his death, that 
all the devils in hell did tear him in pieces. Forster, likewise, 
after this fact, being a man formerly addicted to hospitality, 
company, mirth, and music, was afterwards observed to for- 
sake all this, and with much melancholy and pensiveness, 
(some say with madness,) pined and drooped away. The wife 
also of Bald Butter, (/) kinsman to the Earl, gave out the 
whole fact a little before her death. Neither are these follow- 
ing passages to be forgotten, that as soon as 'ever she was mur- 
dered, they made great haste to bury her before the coroner 
had given in his inquest, (which the Earl himself condemned 
as not done advisedly,) which her father, or Sir John Robert- 
sett, (as I suppose,) hearing of, ( g ) came with all speed hither, 
caused her corpse to be taken up, the coroner to sit upon her, 
and further enquiry to be made concerning this business to the 
full ; but it was generally thought that the Earl stopped his 
mouth, and made up the business betwixt them ; and the good 
Earl, to make plain to the world the great love he bare to her 
while alive, and what a grief the loss of so ijrtuous a lady was 
to his tender heart, caused (though the thing, by these and 
other means, was beaten into the heads of the principal men 
of the University of Oxford) her body to be re-buried in St. 
Mary’s church in Oxford, with great pomp and solemnity. It 
is remarkable, when Dr. Babington, the Earl’s chaplain, did 
preach the funeral sermon, he tript once or twice in his speech, 
by recommending to their memories that virtuous lady so piti- 
fully murdered , instead of saying pitifully slain. This Earl 
after all his murders and poisonings, was himself poisoned by 
that which was prepared for others, (some say by his wife at 
Cornbury Lodge before mentioned,) though Baker in his 
Chronicle would have it at Killingworth, anno 1588.” 1 

1 Ashmole’s Antiquities of Berkshire, vol. i., p. 149. The tradi- 
tion as to Leicester’s death was thus communicated by Ben Jonson 
to Drummond of Hawthornden : — “ The Earl of Leicester gave a 


KENILWORTH. 


xxxi 


The same accusation has been adopted and circulated 
by the author of Leicester’s Commonwealth, a satire 
written directly against the Earl of Leicester, which 
loaded him with the most horrid crimes, and, among the 
rest, with the murder of his first wife. It was alluded 
to in the Yorkshire Tragedy, a play erroneously as- 
cribed to Shakspeare, where a baker, who determines 
to destroy all his family, throws his wife down stairs, 
with this allusion to the supposed murder of Leicester’s 
lady, — 

The only way to charm a woman’s tongue 

Is, break her neck — a politician did it. 

The reader will find I have borrowed several inci- 
dents as well as names from Ashmole, and the more 
early authorities; but my first acquaintance with the 
history was through the more pleasing medium of verse. 
There is a period in youth when the mere power of num- 
bers has a more strong effect on ear and imagination, 
than in more advanced life. At this season of imma- 
ture taste the author was greatly delighted with the 
poems of Mickle and Langhorne, poets who, though by 
no means deficient in the higher branches of their art, 
were eminent for their powers of verbal melody above 
most who have practised this department of poetry. 
One of those pieces of Mickle, which the author was 
particularly pleased with, is a ballad, or rather a species 
of elegy, on the subject of Cumnor Hall, which, w r ith 
others by the same author, were to be found in Evans’s 
Ancient Ballads, (volume iv. ? page 130,) to which 
work Mickle made liberal contributions". The first 
stanza especially had a peculiar species of enchantment 

bottle of liquor to his Lady, which he willed her to use in any faint- 
ness, which she, after his retnrne from court, not knowing it was 
poison, gave him, and so he died.” — Ben Jonson’s Information to 
Drummond of Hawthornden, MS. — Sir Robert Sibbald’s Copy 


xxxii INTRODUCTION TO 

for the youthful ear of the author, the force of which ifl 
not even now entirely spent; some others are suffi- 
ciently prosaic. 


CUMNOR HALL. 

The dews of summer night did fall ; 

The moon, sweet regent of the sky. 
Silver’d the walls of Cumnor Hall, 

And many an oak that grew thereby. 

Now nought was heard beneath the skies, 
The sounds of busy life were still, 

Save an unhappy lady's sighs, 

That issued from that lonely pile. 


“ Leicester,” she cried, “ is this thy love 
That thou so oft has sworn to me, 

To leave me in this lonely grove, 

Immured in shameful privity ? 

" No more thou com’sfc with lover's speed, 
Thy once beloved bride to see ; 

But be she alive, or be she dead, 

I fear, stern Earl, 's the same to thee. 

“ Not so the usage I received 
When happy in my father’s hall, 

No faithless husband then me grieved, 

No chilling fears did me appal. 

" I rose up with the cheerful morn, 

No lark more blithe, no flower more gay t 

And like the bird that haunts the thorn, 

So merrily sung the livelong day. 

u If that my beauty is but small, 

Among court ladies all despised, 

Why didst thou rend it from that hall, 
Where, scornful Earl, it well was prized? 


Kenilworth. 


** And when you first to me made suit, 

How fair I was you oft would say ! 

And proud of conquest, pluck’d the fruit. 
Then left the blossom to decay. 

“ Yes ! now neglected and despised, 

The rose is pale, the lily’s dead ; 

But he that once their charms so prized, 

Is sure the cause those charms are fled. 

“ For know, when sick'ning grief doth prey, 
And tender love’s repaid with scorn. 

The sweetest beauty will decay, — 

What floweret can endure the storm ? 

“ At court, I’m told, is beauty’s throne, 
Where every lady’s passing rare, 

That Eastern flowers, that shame the sun, 
Are not so glowing, not so fair. 

" Then, Earl, why didst thou leave the beds 
Where roses and where lilies vie, 

To seek a primrose, whose pale shades 
Must sicken when those gauds are by ? 

“ Mong rural beauties I was one, 

Among the fields wild flowers are fair ; 

Some country swain might me have won, 
And thought my beauty passing rare. 

“ But, Leicester, (or I much am wrong,) 

Or ’tis not beauty lures thy vows ; 

Rather ambition’s gilded crown 
Makes thee forget thy humble spouse 

u Then, Leicester, why, again I plead, 

(The injured surely may repine,) — 

Why didst thou wed a country maid, 

When some fair princess might be thine? 

** Why didst thou praise my humble charms, 
And, oh ! then leave them to decay ? 

Why didst thou win me to thy arms, 

Then leave to mourn the livelong day ? 


xxxiv 


INTRODUCTION TO 


" Th© village maidens of the plain 
Salute me lowly as they go ; 

Envious they mark my silken train, 

Nor think a Countess can have woe. 

“ The simple nymphs ! they little know 
How far more happy’s their estate ; 

To smile for joy — than sigh for woe — 
To be content — than to be great. 

“ How far less blest am I than them * 
Daily to pine and waste with care ! 

Like the poor plant, that, from its stem 
Divided, feels the chilling air. 

“ Nor, cruel Earl ! can I enjoy 
The humble charms of solitude ; 

Your minions proud my peace destroy, 

By sullen frowns or pratings rude. 

“ Last night, as sad I chanced to stray, 
The village death-bell smote my ear ; 
They wink’d aside, and seemed to say, 

‘ Countess, prepare, thy end is near \ • 

And now, while happy peasants sleep. 
Here I sit lonely and forlorn ; 

No one to soothe me as I weep, 

Save Philomel on yonder thorn. 

“ My spirits flag — my hopes decay — 

Still that dread death-bell smites my ea^ 
And many a boding seems to say, 

* Countess, prepare, thy end is near 1 * ” 

% 

Thus sore and sad that lady grieved, 

In Cumnor Hall, so lone and drear ; 

And many a heartfelt sigh she heaved, 
And let fall many a bitter tear. 

And ere the dawn of day appear’d 
In Cumnor Hall, so lone and drear, 

Full many a piercing scream was heard t 
And many a cry of mortal fear. 


KENILWORTH. 


XX'CV 


The death-bell thrice was heard to ring, 
An aerial voice was heard to call, 

And thrice the raven flapp’d its wing 
Around the towers of Cumnor Hall. 

The mastiff howl’d at village door, 

The oaks were shatter’d on the green j 

Woe was the hour — for never more 
That hapless Countess e’er was seen ! 

And in that Manor now no more 
Is cheerful feast and sprightly ball ; 

For ever since that dreary hour 
Have spirits haunted Cumnor Hall. 

The village maids, with fearful glance, 
Avoid the ancient moss-grown wall ; 

Nor ever lead the merry dance, 

Among the groves of Cumnor Hall. 

Full many a traveller oft hath sigh’d, 
And pensive wept the Countess’ fall, 

As waud’ring onwards they’ve espied 
The haunted towers of Cumnor HalL 

Abbotsford, 

Lst March , 1831. 






KENILWORTH. 


CHAPTER I. 

I am an innkeeper, and know my grounds, 

And study them ; Brain o’ man, I study them. 

I must have jovial guests to drive my ploughs, 

And whistling boys to bring my harvests home, 

Or I shall hear no flails thwack. 

The New Inn. 

It is the privilege of tale-tellers to open their story 
in an inn, the free rendezvous of all travellers, and 
where the humour of each displays itself, without 
ceremony or restraint. This is specially suitable 
when the scene is laid during the old days of merry 
England, when the guests were in some sort not 
merely the inmates, but the messmates and tempo- 
rary companions of mine Host, who was usually a 
personage of privileged freedom, comely presence, 
and good-humour. Patronised by him, the charac- 
ters of the company were placed in ready contrast ; 
and they seldom failed, during the emptying of a 
six-hooped pot, to throw off reserve, and present 
themselves to each other, and to their landlord, with 
the freedom of old acquaintance. 

The village of Cumnor, within three or four miles 
of Oxford, boasted, during the eighteenth of Queen 
Elizabeth, an excellent inn of the old stamp, con- 
ducted, or rather ruled, by Giles Gosling, (h) a man of 
a goodly person, and of somewhat round belly ; fifty 


2 


KENILWORTH. 


years of age and upwards, moderate in his reckon- 
ings, prompt in his payments, having a cellar of 
sound liquor, a ready wit, and a pretty daughter. 
Since the days of old Harry Baillie of the Tabbard 
in Southwark, no one had excelled Giles Gosling 
in the power of pleasing his guests of every descrip- 
tion ; and so great was his fame, that to have been 
in Cumnor, without wetting a cup at the bonny 
Black Bear, would have been to avouch one’s-self 
utterly indifferent to reputation as a traveller. A 
country fellow might as well return from London, 
without looking in the face of majesty. The men 
of Cumnor were proud of their Host, and their Host 
was proud of his house, his liquor, his daughter, 
and himself. 

It was in the court-yard of the inn which called 
this honest fellow landlord, that a traveller alighted 
in the close of the evening, gave his horse, which 
seemed to have made a long journey, to the hostler, 
and made some enquiry, which produced the follow- 
ing dialogue betwixt the myrmidons of the bonny 
Black Bear. 

“ What, ho ! J ohn Tapster.” 

“ At hand, Will Hostler,” replied the man of the 
spigot, showing himself in his costume of loose 
jacket, linen breeches, and green apron, half within 
and half without a door, which appeared to descend 
to an outer cellar. 

“ Here is a gentleman asks if you draw good ale,” 
continued the hostler. 

“ Beshrew my heart else,” answered the tapster, 
“since there are but four miles betwixt us and 
Oxford. — Marry, if my ale did not convince the 
heads of the scholars, they would soon convince my 
pate with the pewter flagon.” 


KENILWORTH. 


3 


k 

“ Call you that Oxford logic ? ” said the stranger, 
who had now quitted the rein of his horse, and was 
advancing towards the inn-door, when he was en- 
countered by the goodly form of Giles Gosling 
himself. 

“ Is it logic you talk of, Sir Guest ? ” said the 
host ; “ why, then, have at you with a downright 
consequence — 

1 The horse to the rack, 

And to tire with the sack/ ” 

“ Amen ! with all my heart, my good host,” said 
the stranger ; “ let it be a quart of your best Cana- 
ries, and give me your good help to drink it.” 

“Nay, you are but in your accidence yet, Sir 
Traveller, if you call on your host for help for such 
a sipping matter as a quart of sack — were it a gal- 
lon, you might lack some neighbourly aid at my 
hand, and yet call yourself a toper.” 

‘ Fear me not,” said the guest, “ I will do my 
devoir as becomes a man who finds himself within 
five miles of Oxford ; for I am not come from the 
field of Mars to discredit myself amongst the fol- 
lowers of Minerva.” 

As he spoke thus, the landlord, with much sem- 
blance of hearty welcome, ushered his guest into a 
large low chamber, where several persons were 
seated together in different parties ; some drinking, 
some playing at cards, some conversing, and some, 
whose business called them to be early risers on the 
morrow, concluding their evening meal, and con- 
ferring with the chamberlain about their night’s 
quarters. 

The entrance of a stranger procured him that 
general and careless sort of attention which is usu- 


4 


KENILWORTH. 


ally paid on such occasions, from which the follow- 
ing results were deduced : — The guest was one of 
those who, with a well-made person, and features 
not in themselves unpleasing, are nevertheless so 
far from handsome, that, whether from the expres- 
sion of their features, or the tone of their voice, or 
from their gait and manner, there arises, on the 
whole, a disinclination to their society. The stran- 
ger’s address was bold, without being frank, and 
seemed eagerly and hastily to claim for him a degree 
of attention and deference, which he feared would 
be refused, if not instantly vindicated as his right. 
His attire was a riding-cloak, which, when open, dis- 
played a handsome jerkin overlaid with lace, and 
belted with a buff girdle, which sustained a broad- 
sword and a pair of pistols. 

“ You ride well provided, sir,” said the host, look- 
ing at the weapons as he placed on the table the 
mulled sack which the traveller had ordered. 

“ Yes, mine host ; T have found the use on’t in 
dangerous times, and I do not, like your modern 
grandees, turn off my followers the instant they are 
useless.” 

“Ay, sir?” said Giles Gosling; “then you are 
from the Low Countries, the land of pike and 
caliver ? ” 

“ I have been high and low, my friend, broad 
and wide, far and near ; but here is to thee in a cup 
of thy sack — fill thyself another to pledge me ; 
and, if it is less than superlative, e’en drink as you 
have brewed.” 

“ Less than superlative ? ” said Giles Gosling, 
drinking off the cup, and smacking his lips with an 
air of ineffable relish, — “ I know nothing of super- 
lative, nor is there such a wine at the Three Cranes, 


KENILWORTH. 


S 


in the Yin try, to my knowledge ; but if you find 
better sack than that in the Sheres, or in the Cana- 
ries either, I would I may never touch either pot or 
penny more. Why, hold it up betwixt you and the 
light, you shall see the little motes dance in the 
golden liquor like dust in the sunbeam. But I 
would rather draw wine for ten clowns than one 
traveller. — I trust your honour likes the wine ? ” 

“ It is neat and comfortable, mine host ; but to 
know good liquor, you should drink where the vine 
grows. Trust me, your Spaniard is too wise a man 
to send you the very soul of the grape. Why, this 
now, which you account so choice, were counted but 
as a cup of bastard at the Groyne, or at Port St. 
Mary’s. You should travel, mine host, if you would 
be deep in the mysteries of the butt and pottle-pot.” 

“ In troth, Signior Guest,” said Giles Gosling, 
“ if I were to travel only that I might be discon- 
tented with that which I can get at home, methinks 
I should go but on a fool’s errand. Besides, I war- 
rant you, there is many a fool can turn his nose up 
at good drink without ever having been out of the 
smoke of Old England ; and so ever gramercy mine 
own fireside.” 

“ This is but a mean mind of yours, mine host, 
said the stranger ; “ I warrant me, all your town’s 
folk do not think so basely. You have gallants 
among you, I dare undertake, that have made the 
Virginia voyage, or taken a turn in the Low Coun- 
tries at least. Come, cudgel your memory. Have 
you no friends in foreign parts that you would 
gladly have tidings of ? ” 

“ Troth, sir, not I,” answered the host, “ since 
ranting Robin of Drysandford was shot at the siege 
of the Brill. The devil take the caliver that fired 


6 


KENILWORTH. 


the ball, for a blither lad never filled a cup at mid- 
night ! But he is dead and gone, and I know not a 
soldier, or a traveller, who is a soldier’s mate, that 
I would give a peeled codling for.” 

“ By the mass, that is strange. What! so many 
of our brave English hearts are abroad, and you, 
who seem to be a man of mark, have no friend, no 
kinsman, among them?” 

“ Nay, if you speak of kinsmen,” answered Gosling, 
“ I have one wild slip of a kinsman, who left us in 
the last year of Queen Mary ; but he is better lost 
than found.” 

“Do not say so, friend, unless you have heard 
ill of him lately. Many a wild colt has turned out 
a noble steed. — His name, I pray you ? ” 

“ Michael Lambourne,” answered the landlord of 
the Black Bear ; “ a son of my sister’s — there is 
little pleasure in recollecting either the name or the 
connexion.” 

“ Michael Lambourne ! ” said the stranger, as if 
endeavouring to recollect himself — “ what, no rela- 
tion to Michael Lambourne, the gallant cavalier who 
behaved so bravely at the siege of Venlo, that Grave 
Maurice thanked him at the head of the army ? 
Men said he was an English cavalier, and of no 
high extraction.” 

“ It could scarcely be my nephew,” said Giles 
Gosling, “for he had not the courage of a hen- 
partridge for aught but mischief.” 

“ 0, many a man finds courage in the wars,” re- 
plied the stranger. 

“ It may be,” said the landlord ; “ but I would 
have thought our Mike more likely to lose the little 
he had.” 

“ The Michael Lambourne whom I knew,” con- 


KENILWORTH. 


7 


tinued the traveller, “ was a likely fellow — went 
always gay and well attired, and had a hawk’s eye 
after a pretty wench.” 

“ Our Michael,” replied the host, “ had the look 
of a dog with a bottle at its tail, and wore a coat, 
every rag of which was bidding good-day to the 
rest.” 

“O, men pick up good apparel in the wars,” 
replied the guest. 

“ Our Mike,” answered the landlord, “ was more 
like to pick it up in a frippery warehouse, while the 
broker was looking another way ; and, for the hawk’s 
eye you talk of, his was always after my stray 
spoons. He was tapster’s boy here in this blessed 
house for a quarter of a year ; and between misreck- 
onings, miscarriages, mistakes, and misdemeanours, 
had he dwelt with me for three months longer, I 
might have pulled down sign, shut up house, and 
given the devil the key to keep.” 

“ You would be sorry, after all,” continued the 
traveller, “ were I to tell you poor Mike Lambourne 
was shot at the head of his regiment at the taking 
of a sconce near Maestricht ? ” 

“ Sorry ! — it would be the blithest news I ever 
heard of him, since it would ensure me he was not 
hanged. But let him pass — I doubt his end will 
never do such credit to his friends : were it so, I 
should say ” — (taking another cup of sack) — “ Here’s 
God rest him, with all my heart.” 

“ Tush, man,” replied the traveller, “ never fear 
but you will have credit by your nephew yet, espe- 
cially if he be the Michael Lambourne whom I 
knew, and loved very nearly, or altogether, as well 
as myself. Can you tell me no mark by which T 
could judge whether they be the same ? ” 


8 


KENILWORTH. 


“ Faith, none that I can think of,” answered Giles 
Gosling, “ unless that our Mike had the gallows 
branded on his left shoulder for stealing a silver 
caudle-cup from Dame Snort of Hogsditch.” 

“Nay, there you lie like a knave, uncle,” said the 
stranger, slipping aside his ruff, and turning down 
the sleeve of his doublet from his neck and shoulder ; 
“ by this good day, 'my shoulder is as unscarred as 
thine own.” 

“ What, Mike, boy — Mike ! ” exclaimed the host ; 
— “ and is it thou, in good earnest ? Nay, I have 
judged so for this half hour ; for I knew no other 
person would have ta’en half the interest in thee. 
But, Mike, an thy shoulder be unscathed as thou 
sayest, thou must own that Goodman Thong, the 
hangman, was merciful in his office, and stamped 
thee with a cold iron.” 

“ Tush, uncle — truce with your jests. Keep them 
to season your sour ale, and let us see what hearty 
welcome thou wilt give a kinsman who has rolled 
the world around for eighteen years ; who has seen 
the sun set where it rises, and has travelled till the 
west has become the east.” 

“ Thou hast brought back one traveller’s gift with 
thee, Mike, as I well see ; and that was what thou 
least didst need to travel for. I remember well, 
among thine other qualities, there was no crediting 
a word which came from thy mouth.” 

“Here’s an unbelieving Pagan for you, gentle- 
men ! ” said Michael Lambourne, turning to those 
who witnessed this strange interview betwixt uncle 
and nephew, some of whom, being natives of the 
village, were no strangers to his juvenile wildness. 
“ This may be called slaying a Cumnor fatted calf 
for me with a vengeance. — But, uncle, I come not 


KENILWORTH. 


$ 

from the husks and the swine-trough, and I care not 
for thy welcome or no welcome ; I carry that with 
me will make me welcome, wend where I will.” 

So saying, he pulled out a purse of gold, indif- 
ferently well filled, the sight of which produced a 
visible effect upon the company. Some shook their 
heads, and whispered to each other, while one or 
two of the less scrupulous speedily began to recol- 
lect him as a school-companion, a townsman, or so 
forth. On the other hand, two or three grave 
sedate-looking persons shook their heads, and left 
the inn, hinting, that, if Giles Gosling wished to 
continue to thrive, he should turn his thriftless, 
godless nephew adrift again, as soon as he could. 
Gosling demeaned himself as if he were much of 
the same opinion ; for even the sight of the gold 
made less impression on the honest gentleman, than 
it usually doth upon one of his calling. 

“ Kinsman Michael,” he said, “ put up thy purse. 
My sister’s son shall be called to no reckoning in 
my house for supper or lodging ; and I reckon thou 
wilt hardly wish to stay longer, where thou art e’en 
but too well known.” 

“For that matter, uncle,” replied the traveller, 
“ I shall consult my own needs and conveniences. 
Meantime I wish to give the supper and sleeping 
cup to those good townsmen, who are not too proud 
to remember Mike Lambourne, the tapster’s boy. 
If you will let me have entertainment for my 
money, so — if not. it is but a short two minutes’ 
walk to the Hare and Tabor, and I trust our neigh- 
bours will not grudge going thus far with me.” 

“Nay, Mike,” replied his uncle, “as eighteen 
years have gone over thy head, and I trust thou art 
somewhat amended in thy conditions, thou shaltnot 


IO 


KENILWORTH. 


leave my house at this hour, and shall e’en have 
whatever in reason you list to call for. But I 
would I knew that that purse of thine, which thou 
vapourest of, were as well come by as it seems well 
filled.” 

“ Here is an infidel for you, my good neighbours ! ” 
said Lambourne, again appealing to the audience. 
“ Here’s a fellow will rip up his kinsman’s follies 
of a good score of years standing — And for the gold, 
why, sirs, I have been where it grew, and was to be 
had for the gathering. In the New World have I 
been, man — - in the Eldorado, where urchins play at 
cherry-pit with diamonds, and country wenches 
thread rubies for necklaces, instead of rowan-tree 
berries ; where the pantiles are made of pure gold, 
and the paving-stones of virgin silver.” 

“ By my credit, friend Mike,” said young Lau- 
rence Goldthred, the cutting mercer of Abingdon, 
“ that were a likely coast to trade to. And what 
may lawns, cypruses, and ribands fetch, where gold 
is so plenty ? ” 

“ O, the profit were unutterable,” replied Lam- 
bourne, “especially when a handsome young mer- 
chant bears the pack himself ; for the ladies of that 
clime are bona-robas, and being themselves some- 
what sunburnt, they catch fire like tinder at a fresh 
complexion like thine, with a head of hair inclining 
to be red.” 

“ I would I might trade thither,” said the mercer, 
chuckling - 

“ Why, and so thou mayst,” said Michael ; “ that 
is, if thou art the same brisk boy who was partner 
with me at robbing the Abbot’s orchard — ’tis but a 
little touch of alcliymy to decoct thy house and land 
into ready money, and that ready money into a tall 


KENILWORTH. 


il 


ship, with sails, anchors, cordage, and all things 
conforming ; then clap thy warehouse of goods un- 
der hatches, put fifty good fellows on deck, with my- 
self to command them, and so hoise topsails, and hey 
for the New World !” • 

“ Thou hast taught him a secret, kinsman,” said 
Giles Gosling, “ to decoct, an that be the word, his 
pound into a penny, and his webs into a thread. — 
Take«a fool’s advice, neighbour Goldthred. Tempt 
not the sea, for she is a devourer. Let cards and 
cockatrices do their worst, thy father’s bales may 
bide a banging for a year or two, ere thou comest to 
the Spital ; but the sea hath a bottomless appetite, — 
she would swallow the wealth of Lombard Street in 
a morning, as easily as I would a poached egg and 
a cup of clary ; — and for my kinsman’s Eldorado, 
never trust me if I do not believe he has found it in 
the pouches of some such gulls as thyself. — But 
take no snuff in the nose about it; fall to and 
welcome, for here comes the supper, and I heartily 
bestow it on all that will take share, in honour of 
my hopeful nephew’s return, always trusting that 
he has come home another man — In faith, kins- 
man, thou art as like my poor sister as ever was 
son to mother.” 

“ Not quite so like old Benedict Lambourne her 
husband, though,” said the mercer, nodding and 
winking. “ Dost thou remember, Mike, what thou 
saidst when the schoolmaster’s ferule was over thee 
for striking up thy father’s crutches ? — it is a wise 
child, saidst thou, that knows its own father. Dr. 
Bricham laughed till he cried again, and his crying 
saved yours.” 

“ Well, he made it up to me many a day after,” said 
Lambourne ; “ and how is the worthy pedagogue ? " 


12 


KENILWORTH. 


“Dead,” said Giles Gosling, “this many a day 
since.” 

“ That he is,” said the clerk of the parish ; “ I sat 
by his bed the whilst — He passed away in a blessed 
frame, * Morior — mortuus sum vel fui — mori ’ — 
These were his latest words, and he just added, ‘ my 
last verb is conjugated/ ” 

“ Well, peace be with him,” said Mike, “ he owes 
me nothing.” 

“ No, truly,” replied Goldthred ; “ and every lash 
which he laid on thee, he always was wont to say, he 
spared the hangman a labour.” 

“ One would have thought he left him little to do 
then,” said the clerk ; “ and yet Goodman Thong had 
no sinecure of it with our friend, after all.” 

“ Voto a dios ! ” exclaimed Lambourne, his patience 
appearing to fail him, as he snatched his broad 
slouched hat from the table and placed it on his 
head, so that the shadow gave the sinister expression 
of a Spanish bravo, to eyes and features which nat- 
urally boded nothing pleasant. “ Harkee, my mas- 
ters — all is fair among friends, and under the rose ; 
and I have already permitted my worthy uncle here, 
and all of you, to use your pleasure with the frolics 
of my nonage. But I carry sword and dagger, my 
good friends, and can use them lightly too upon occa- 
sion — I have learned to be dangerous upon points of 
honour ever since I served the Spaniard, and I would 
not have you provoke me to the degree of falling 
foul.” 

“ Why, what would you do ? ” said the clerk. 

“ Ay, sir, what would you do ? ” said the mercer, 
bustling up on the other side of the table. 

“ Slit your throat, and spoil your Sunday’s quaver- 
ing, Sir Clerk,” said Lambourne, fiercely ; “ cudgel 


KENILWORTH. 


>3 


♦ 


you, my worshipful dealer in flimsy sarsenets, into 
one of your own bales.” 

“ Come, come,” said the host, interposing, “ I will 
have no swaggering here. — Nephew, it will become 
you best to show no haste to take offence ; and you, 
gentlemen, will do well to remember, that if you are 
in an inn, still you are the innkeeper’s guests, and 
should spare the honour of his family. — I protest 
your silly broils make me as oblivious as yourself ; 
for yonder sits my silent guest as I call him, who 
hath been my two days’ inmate, and hath never 
spoken a word, save to ask for his food and his reck- 
oning — gives no more trouble than a very peasant — 
pays his shot like a prince royal — looks but at the 
sum total of the reckoning, and does not know what 
day he shall go away. 0, ’tis a jewel of a guest ! and 
yet, hang-dog that I am, I have suffered him to sit 
by himself like a castaway in yonder obscure nook, 
without so much as asking him to take bite or sup 
along with us. It were but the right guerdon of my 
incivility, were he to set off to the Hare and Tabor 
before the night grows older.” 

With his white napkin gracefully arranged over his 
left arm, his velvet cap laid aside for the moment, 
and his best silver flagon in his right hand, mine 
host walked up to the solitary guest whom he men- 
tioned, and thereby turned upon him the eyes of the 
assembled company. 

He was a man aged betwixt twenty-five and thirty, 
rather above the middle size, dressed with plainness 
and decency, yet bearing an air of ease, which al- 
most amounted to dignity, and which seemed to in- 
fer that his habit was rather beneath his rank. His 
countenance was reserved and thoughtful, with dark 
hair and dark eyes — the last, upon any momentary 


>4 


KENILWORTH. 


excitement, sparkled with uncommon lustre, but on 
other occasions had the same meditative and tranquil 
cast which was exhibited by his features. The busy 
curiosity of the little village had been employed to 
discover his name and quality, as well as his busi- 
ness at Cumnor; but nothing had transpired on 
either subject which could lead to its gratification. 
Giles Gosling, head-borough of the place, and a 
steady friend to Queen Elizabeth and the protestant 
religion, was at one time inclined to suspect his guest 
of being a Jesuit, or seminary priest, of whom Rome 
and Spain sent at this time so many to grace the gal- 
lows in England. But it was scarce possible to retain 
such a prepossession against a guest who gave so 
little trouble, paid his reckoning so regularly, and 
who proposed, as it seemed, to make a considerable 
stay at the bonny Black Bear. 

“ Papists,” argued Giles Gosling, “ are a pinching, 
close-fisted race, and this man would have found a 
lodging with the wealthy squire at Bessellsley, or 
with the old Knight at Wootton, or in some other of 
their Roman dens, instead of living in a house of 
public entertainment, as every honest man and good 
Christian should. Besides, on Friday, he stuck by 
the salt beef and carrot, though there were as good 
spitchcock’d eels on the board as ever were ta’en out 
of the Isis.” 

Honest Giles, therefore, satisfied himself that his 
guest was no Roman, and with all comely courtesy 
besought the stranger to pledge him in a draught of 
the cool tankard, and honour with his attention a 
small collation which he was giving to his nephew, 
in honour of his return, and, as he verily hoped, of 
his reformation. The stranger at first shook his 
head, as if declining the courtesy; but mine host 


KENILWORTH. 


15 

proceeded to urge him with arguments founded on 
the credit of his house, and the construction which 
the good people of Cumnor might put upon such an 
unsocial humour. 

“ By my faith, sir,” he said, “ it touches my repu- 
tation that men should be merry in my house, and 
we have ill tongues amongst us at Cumnor, (as where 
be there not ?) who put an evil mark on men who 
pull their hat over their brows as if they were look- 
ing back to the days that are gone, instead of enjoy- 
ing the blithe sunshiny weather which God has sent 
us in the sweet looks of our sovereign mistress, 
Queen Elizabeth, whom Heaven long bless and 
preserve ! ” 

“ Why, mine host,” answered the stranger, “ there 
is no treason, sure, in a man’s enjoying his own 
thoughts, under the shadow of his own bonnet? 
You have lived in the world twice as long as I have 
and you must know there are thoughts that will 
haunt us in spite of ourselves, and to which it is in 
vain to say, begone, and let me be merry.” 

“ By my sooth, ” answered Giles Gosling, " if 
such troublesome thoughts haunt your mind, and 
will not get them gone for plain English, we will 
have one of Father Bacon’s pupils from Oxford, to 
conjure them away with logic and with Hebrew — 
Or, what say you to laying them in a glorious red 
sea of claret, my noble guest? Come, sir, excuse 
my freedom. I am an old host, and must have my 
talk. This peevish humour of melancholy sits ill 
upon you — it suits not with a sleek boot, a hat of 
a trim block, a fresh cloak, and a full purse — A 
pize on it, send it off to those who have their legs 
swathed with a hay-wisp, their heads thatched 
with a felt bonnet; their jerkin as thin as a cob* 


KENILWORTH. 


ib 

web, and their pouch without ever a cross to keep 
the fiend Melancholy from dancing in it. Cheer 
up, sir! or, by this good liquor, we will banish 
thee from the joys of blithesome company, into the 
mists of melancholy and the land of little-ease. 
Here be a set of good fellows willing to be merry ; 
do not scowl on them like the devil looking over 
Lincoln. ” v 

“ You say well, my worthy host, ” said the guest, 
with a melancholy smile, which, melancholy as it 
was, gave a very pleasant expression to his counte- 
nance — “You say well, my jovial friend; and 
they that are moody like myself, should not .dis- 
turb the mirth of those who are happy — I will 
drink a round with your guests with all my heart, 
rather than be termed a mar-feast. ” 

So saying, he arose and jointed the company, who, 
encouraged by the precept and example of Michael 
Lambourne, and consisting chiefly of persons much 
disposed to profit by the opportunity of a merry 
meal at the expense of their landlord, had already 
made some inroads upon the limits of temperance, 
as was evident from the tone in which Michael 
enquired after his old acquaintances in the town, 
and the bursts of laughter with which each answer 
was received. Giles Gosling himself was some- 
what scandalized at the obstreperous nature of their 
mirth, especially as he involuntarily felt some re- 
spect for his unknown guest. He paused, there- 
fore, at some distance from the table occupied by 
these noisy revellers, and began to make a sort of 
apology for their license. 

“ You would think, ” he said, “ to hear these fel- 
lows talk, that there was not one of them who had 
not been bred to live by Stand and Deliver; and 


KENILWORTH. 


17 


yet to-morrow you will find them a set of as pains- 
taking mechanics, and so forth, as ever cut an inch 
short of measure, or paid a letter of change in light 
crowns over a counter. The mercer there wears 
his hat awry, over a shagged head of hair, that 
looks like a curly water-dog’s back, goes unbraced, 
wears his cloak on one side, and affects a ruffianly 
vapouring humour — when in his shop at Abing- 
don, he is, from his flat cap to his glistening shoes, 
as precise in his apparel as if he was named for 
mayor. He talks of breaking parks, and taking the 
highway, in such fashion that you would think he 
haunted every night betwixt Hounslow and Lon- 
don ; when in fact he may be found sound asleep 
on his feather-bed, with a candle placed beside 
him on one side, and a Bible on the other, to 
fright away the goblins. ” 

“ And your nephew, mine host, this same 
Michael Lambourne, who is lord of the feast — 
is he, too, such an would-be rufffer as the rest of 
them ? " 

“ Why, there you push me hard, ” said the host ; 
“ my nephew is my nephew, and though he was 
a desperate Dick of yore, yet Mike may have 
mended like other folks, you wot — And I would 
not have you think all I said of him, even now, 
was strict gospel — I knew the wag all the while, 
and wished to pluck his plumes from him — And 
now, sir, by what name shall I present my wor- 
shipful guest to these gallants ? ” 

“ Marry, mine host, * replied the stranger, “ you 
may call me Tressilian. ” 

“ Tressilian ? ” answered mine host of the Bear, 
“ a worthy name ; and, as I think, of Cornish line- 
age ; for what says the south proverb — » 


KENILWORTH. 


IS 


* By Pol, Tre, and Pen, 

You may know the Cornish men. 

Shall I say the worthy Mr. Tressilian of Cornwall ? * 
“ Say no more than I have given you warrant 
for, mine host, and so shall you be sure you speak 
no more than is true. A man may have one of 
those honourable prefixes to his name, yet be born 
far from Saint Michael’s Mount. ” 

Mine host pushed his curiosity no farther, but 
presented Mr. Tressilian to his nephew’s company, 
who, after exchange of salutations, and drinking 
to the health of their new companion, pursued the 
conversation in which he found them engaged, 
seasoning it with many an intervening pledge. 


CHAPTER II. 


Talk you of young Master Lancelot ? 

Merchant of Venice • 


After some brief interval, Master Goldthred, at 
the earnest instigation of mine host, and the joy- 
ous concurrence of his guest, indulged the company 
with the following morsel of melody : 

“ Of all the birds on bush or tree. 

Commend me to the owl, 

Since he may best ensample be 
To those the cup that trowl. 

For when the sun hath left the west, 

He chooses the tree that he loves the best, 

And he whoops out his song, and he laughs at his jest ; 
Then though hours be late, and weather foul, 

Well drink to the health of the bonny, bonny owl. 

“ The lark is but a bumpkin fowl, 

He sleeps in his nest till morn ; 

But my blessing upon the jolly owl, 

That all night blows his horn. 

Then up with your cup till you stagger in speech, 

A.nd match me this catch till you swagger and screech. 
And drink till you wink, my merry men each ; 

For though hours be late, and weather be foul, 

Well drink to the health of the bonny, bonny owl.*' 

“ There is savour in this, my hearts,” said Mi- 
chael, when the mercer had finished his song, 
“and some goodness seems left among you yet —j 


20 


KENILWORTH. 


but what a bead-roll you have read me of old 
comrades, and to every man’s name tacked some 
ill-omened motto! And so Swashing Will of Wal- 
lingford hath bid us good-night ? ” 

“ He died the death of a fat buck, * said one of 
the party, “ being shot with a crossbow bolt, by 
old Thatcham, the Duke’s stout park-keeper at 
Donnington Castle. ” 

“ Ay, ay, he always loved venison well, ” re- 
plied Michael, “ and a cup of claret to boot — and 
so here’s one to his memory. Do me right, my 
masters. ” 

When the memory of this departed worthy had 
been duly honoured, Lambourne proceeded to en- 
quire after Prance of Padworth. 

“ Pranced off — made immortal ten years since, ” 
said the mercer : “ marry, sir, Oxford Castle and 
Goodman Thong, and a tenpenny -worth of cord, 
best know how. ” 

“ What, so they hung poor Prance high and dry ? 
so much for loving to walk by moonlight — a cup 
to his memory, my masters — all merry fellows 
like moonlight. What has become of Hal with 
the Plume ? — he who lived near Yattenden, and 
wore the long feather — I forget his name. ” 

“ What, Hal Hempseed ? ” replied the mercer, 
“ why, you may remember he was a sort of a gen- 
tleman, and would meddle in state matters, and so 
he got into the mire about the Duke of Norfolk’s 
affair these two or three years since, fled the coun- 
try with a pursuivant’s warrant at his heels, and 
has never since been heard of. ” 

“ Nay, after these baulks, ” said Michael Lam- 
bourne, “ I need hardly enquire after Tony Poster; 
for when ropes, and crossbow shafts, and pursui- 


KENILWORTH. 


21 


vant’s warrants, and such like gear, were so rife, 
Tony could hardly ’scape them. ” 

“ Which Tony Foster mean you? ” said the inn- 
keeper. — ~ ' 

\ u Why, he they called Tony Fire-the-Fagot, be- 
cause he brought a light to kindle the pile round 
Latimer and Ridley, when the wind blew out Jack 
Thong’s torch, and no man else would give him 
light for love or money. ” 

“ Tony Foster lives and thrives,” said the host. 
— “ But, kinsman, I would not have you call him 
Tony Fire-the-Fagot, if you would not brook the 
stab. ” 

“ How! is he grown ashamed on’t?” said Lam- 
bourne ; “ why, he was wont to boast of it, and say 
he liked as well to see a roasted heretic as a roasted 
ox. ” 

“ Ay, but, kinsman, that was in Mary’s time,” 
replied the landlord, “ when Tony’s father was 
Reeve here to the Abbot of Abingdon. But since 
that, Tony married a pure precisian, and is as good 
a protestant, I warrant you, as the best. ” 

“ And looks grave, and holds his head high, and 
scorns his old companions, ” said the mercer. 

“ Then he hath prospered, I warrant him, ” said 
Lambourne ; “ for ever when a man hath got nobles 
of his own, he keeps out of the way of those whose 
exchequers lie in other men’s purchase.” 

“ Prospered, quotha ! ” said the mercer ; “ why, 
you remember Cumnor-Place, the old mansion- 
house beside the churchyard ? ” 

“ By the same token, I robbed the orchard three 
times — what of that? — It was the old Abbot’s 
residence when there was plague or sickness at 
Abingdon. ” 


22 


KENILWORTH. 


“ Ay, ” said the host, “ but that has been long 
over; and Anthony Foster hath a right in it, and 
lives there by some grant from a great courtier, 
who had the church -lands from the crown ; and 
there he dwells, and has as little to do with any 
poor wight in Cumnor, as if he were himself a 
belted knight. ” 

“ Nay, ” said the mercer, “ it is not altogether 
pride in Tony neither — there is a fair lady in the 
case, and Tony will scarce let the light of day 
look on her. ” 

“ How ! ” said Tressilian, who now for the first 
time interfered in their conversation, “ did ye not 
say this Foster was married, and to a precisian ? ” 

“ Married he was, and to as bitter a precisian 
as ever eat flesh in Lent; and a cat-and-dog life 
she led with Tony, as men said. But she is dead, 
rest be with her, and Tony hath but a slip of a 
daughter; so it is thought he means to wed this 
stranger, that men keep such a coil about. ” 

“ And why so ? — I mean, why do they keep a 
coil about her ? ” said Tressilian. 

“ Why, I wot not, ” answered the host, “ except 
that men say she is as beautiful as an angel, and 
no one knows whence she comes, and every one 
wishes to know why she is kept so closely mewed 
up. For my part, I never saw her — you have, I 
think, Master Goldthred ? ” 

“ That I have, old boy, ” said the mercer. “ Look 
you, I was riding hither from Abingdon — I passed 
under the east oriel window of the old mansion, 
where all the old saints and histories and suchlike 
are painted — It was not the common path I took, 
but one through the Park; for the postern-door 
was upon the latch, and I thought I might take the 


KENILWORTH. 


23 


privilege of an old comrade to ride across through 
the trees, both for shading, as the day was some- 
what hot, and for avoiding of dust, because I had 
on my peach-coloured doublet, pinked out with 
cloth of gold. ” 

“ Which garment, ” said Michael Lambourne, 
“ thou wouldst willingly make twinkle in the eyes 
of a fair dame. Ah ! villain, thou wilt never 
leave thy old tricks. ” 

“Not so — not so,” said the mercer, with a 
smirking laugh ; “ not altogether so — but curios- 
ity, thou knowest, and a strain of compassion 
withal, — for the poor young lady sees nothing 
from morn to even but Tony Foster, with hisscowl- 
ing black brows, his bull’s head, and his bandy 
legs.” 

“ And thou wouldst willingly show her a dapper 
body, in a silken jerkin — a limb like a short- 
legged hen’s, in a cordovan boot, and a round, 
simpering, what-d’ye-lack sort of a countenance, 
set off with a velvet bonnet, a Turkey feather, 
and a gilded brooch ? Ah ! jolly mercer, they 
who have good wares are fond to show them! — 
Come, gentles, let not the cup stand — here’s to 
long spurs, short boots, full bonnets, and empty 
skulls ! ” 

“ Nay, now, you are jealous of me, Mike, ” said 
Goldthred ; “ and yet my luck was but what might 
have happened to thee, or any man. ” 

“ Marry confound thine impudence, ” retorted 
Lambourne ; “ thou wouldst not compare thy pud- 
ding face, and sarsenet manners, to a gentleman, 
and a soldier ? ” 

“ Nay, my good sir,” said Tressilian,“ let me be- 
seech you will not interrupt the gallant citizen: 


H 


KENILWORTH 


methinks he tells his tale so well, I could hearken 
to him till midnight. ” 

"It’s more of your favour than of my desert, ” 
answered Master Goldthred ; “ but since I give you 
pleasure, worthy Master Tressilian, I shall proceed, 
maugre all the gibes and quips of this valiant sol- 
dier, who, peradventure, hath had more cuffs than 
crowns in the Low Countries. — And so, sir, as I 
passed under the great painted window, leaving 
my rein loose on my ambling palfrey’s neck, partly 
for mine ease, and partly that I might have the 
more leisure to peer about, I hears me the lattice 
open ; and never credit me, sir, if there did not 
stand there the person of as fair a woman as ever 
crossed mine eyes; and I think I have looked on 
as many pretty wenches, and with as much judg- 
ment, as other folks. ” 

“ May I ask her appearance, sir ? ” said Tressilian. 

“ 0, sir, ” replied Master Goldthred, “ I promise 
you, she was in gentlewoman’s attire — a very 
quaint and pleasing dress, that might have served 
the Queen herself ; for she had a forepart with body 
and sleeves, of ginger-coloured satin, which, in my 
judgment, must have cost by the yard some thirty 
shillings, lined with murrey taffeta, and laid down 
and guarded with two broad laces of gold and sil- 
ver. And her hat, sir, was truly the best fash- 
ioned thing ‘that I have seen in these parts, being of 
tawny taffeta, embroidered with scorpions of Ven- 
ice gold, and having a border garnished with gold 
fringe; — I promise you, sir, an absolute and all- 
surpassing device. Touching her skirts, they were 
in the old pass-devant fashion ” 

“ I did not ask you of her attire, sir,” said Tres- 
silian, who had shown some impatience during 


KENILWORTH. 


25 


this conversation, “ but of her complexion — the 
colour of her hair, her features. ” 

“ Touching her complexion,” answered the mer- 
cer, “ I am not so special certain ; but I marked 
that her fan had an ivory handle, curiously inlaid; 
— and then again, as to the colour of her hair, 
why, I can warrant, be its hue what it might, that 
she wore above it a net of green silk, parcel twisted 
with gold. ” 

“ A most mercer-like memory, ” said Lambourne : 
“ the gentleman asks him of the lady’s beauty, and 
he talks of her fine clothes ! ” 

“ I tell thee, ” said the mercer, somewhat discon- 
certed, “ I had little time to look at her; for just 
as I was about to give her the good time of day, 
and for that purpose had puckered my features 
with a smile ” 

“ Like those of a jackanape simpering at a chest- 
nut, ” said Michael Lambourne. 

— “Up started of a sudden,” continued Gold- 
thred, without heeding the interruption, “ Tony 

Foster himself, with a cudgel in his hand ” 

“ And broke thy head across, I hope, for thine 
impertinence, ” said his entertainer. 

“ That were more easily said than done, ” an- 
swered Goldthred, indignantly ; “ no, no — there was 
no breaking of heads — it’s true, he advanced his 
cudgel, and spoke of laying on, and asked why I 
did not keep the public road, and such like ; and I 
would have knocked him over the pate handsomely 
for his pains, only for the lady’s presence, who 
might have swooned, for what I know. ” 

“ Now, out upon thee for a faint-spirited slave ! ” 
said Lambourne ; “ what adventurous knight ever 
thought of the lady’s terror, when he went to 


26 


KENILWORTH. 


thwack giant, dragon, or magician, in her presence, 
and for her deliverance ? But why talk to thee of 
dragons, who would be driven back by a dragon-fly. 
There thou hast missed the rarest opportunity ! ” 

“ Take it thyself, then, bully Mike, ” answered 
Goldthred. — “Yonder is the enchanted manor, 
and the dragon, and the lady, all at thy service, 
if thou darest venture on them. ” 

“ Why, so I would for a quartern of sack,” said 
the soldier — “ Or, stay — I am foully out of linen 
— wilt thou bet a piece of Hollands against these 
five angels, that I go not up to the Hall to-morrow, 
and force Tony Foster to introduce me to his fair 
guest ?” 

“ I accept your wager, ” said the mercer ; “ and I 
think, though thou hadst even the impudence of 
the devil, I shall gain on thee this bout. Our 
landlord here shall hold stakes, and I will stake 
down gold till I send the linen. ” 

“ I will hold stakes on no such matter, ” said 
Gosling. “ Good now, . my kinsman, drink your 
wine in quiet, and let such ventures alone. I 
promise you, Master Foster hath interest enough 
to lay you up in lavender in the Castle at Oxford, 
or to get your legs made acquainted with the 
town-stocks. ” 

“ That would be but renewing an old intimacy ; 
for Mike’s shins and the town’s wooden pinfold 
have been well known to each other ere now, ” said 
the mercer ; “ but he shall not budge from his 
wager, unless he means to pay forfeit. ” 

“Forfeit?” said Lambourne ; “I scorn it. I 
value Tony Foster’s wrath no more than a shelled 
pea-cod; and I will visit his Lindabrides, by Saint 
George, be he willing or no ! ” 


KENILWORTH. 


27 


* I would gladly pay your halves of the risk, 
sir, ” said Tressilian, “ to be permitted to accom- 
pany you on the adventure. ” 

“ In what would that advantage you, sir ? ” an- 
swered Lambourne. 

“ In nothing, sir, ” said Tressilian, “ unless to 
mark the skill and valour with which you conduct 
yourself. I am a traveller, who seeks for strange 
rencounters and uncommon passages, as the kniglits 
of yore did after adventures and feats of arms. ” 

“ Nay, if it pleasures you to see a trout tickled, ” 
answered Lambourne, “ I care not how many wit- 
ness my skill. And so here I drink success to my 
enterprise ; and he that will not pledge me on his 
knees is a rascal, and I will cut his legs off by 
the garters ! ” 

The draught which Michael Lambourne took 
upon this occasion, had been preceded by so many 
others, that reason tottered on her throne. He 
swore one or two incoherent oaths at the mercer, 
who refused, reasonably enough, to pledge him to 
a sentiment which inferred the loss of his own 
wager. 

“ Wilt thou chop logic with me, ” said Lam- 
bourne, “ thou knave, with no more brains than 
are in a skein of ravelled silk ? by Heaven, I will 
cut thee into fifty yards of galloon lace ! ” • 

But as he attempted to draw his sword for this 
doughty purpose, Michael Lambourne was seized 
upon by the tapster and the chamberlain, and con- 
veyed to his own apartment, there to sleep himself 
sober at his leisure. 

The party then broke up, and the guests took 
their leave; much more to the contentment of 
mine host than of some of the company, who were 


28 


KENILWORTH. 


unwilling to quit good liquor, when it was to be 
had for free cost, so long as they were able to sit 
by it. They were, however, compelled to remove ; 
and go at length they did, leaving Gosling and 
Tressilian in the empty apartment. 

“ By my faith, ” said the former, “ I wonder 
where our great folks find pleasure, when they 
spend their means in entertainments, and in play- 
ing mine host without sending in a reckoning. It * 
is what I but rarely practise ; and whenever I do, 
by Saint Julian, it grieves me beyond measure. 
Each of these empty stoups now, which my nephew 
and his drunken comrades have swilled off, should 
have been a matter of profit to one in my line, and 
I must set them down a dead loss. I cannot, for 
my heart, conceive the pleasure of noise, and non- 
sense, and drunken freaks, and drunken quarrels, 
and smut, and blasphemy, and so forth, when a 
man loses money instead of gaining by it. And 
yet many a. fair estate is lost in upholding such an 
useless course, and that greatly contributes to the 
decay of publicans ; for who the devil do you think 
would pay for drink at the Black Bear, when he 
can have it for nothing at my Lord’s or the 
Squire’s ? ” 

Tressilian perceived that the wine had made 
some impression even on the seasoned brain of 
mine host, which was chiefly to be inferred from 
his declaiming against drunkenness. As he him- 
self had carefully avoided the bowl, he would have 
availed himself of the frankness of the moment, to 
extract from Gosling some further information upon 
the subject of Anthony Foster, and the lady whom 
the mercer had seen in his mansion-house ; but his 
enquiries only set the host upon a new theme of 


Kenilworth. 


29 


declamation against the wiles of the fair sex, in 
which he brought, at full length, the whole wis- 
dom of Solomon to reinforce his own. Finally, he 
turned his admonitions, mixed with much objur- 
gation, upon his tapsters and drawers, who were 
employed in removing the relics of the entertain- 
ment, and restoring order to the apartment ; and at 
length, joining example to precept, though with 
no good success, he demolished a salver with half 
a score of glasses, in attempting to show how such 
service was done at the Three Cranes in the Yin- 
try, then the most topping tavern in London. 
This last accident so far recalled him to his better 
self, that he retired to his bed, slept sound, and 
awoke a new man in the morning. 


CHAPTEE IIL 


Nay, I’ll hold touch — the game shall be play’d out, 

It ne’er shall stop for me, this merry wager : 

That which I say when gamesome, I’ll avouch 
In my most sober mood, ne’er trust me else. 

The Hazard Table. 

And how doth your kinsman, good mine host? * 
said Tressilian, when Giles Gosling first appeared 
in the public room, on the morning following the 
revel which we described in the last chapter. “ Is 
he well, and will he abide by his wager ? ” 

“ For well, sir, he started two hours since, and 
has visited I know not what purlieus of his old 
companions ; hath but now returned, and is at this 
instant breakfasting on new-laid eggs and musca- 
dine ; and for his wager, I caution you as a friend 
to have little to do with that, or indeed with aught 
that Mike proposes. Wherefore, I counsel you to 
a warm breakfast upon a culiss, which shall restore 
the tone of the stomach ; and let my nephew and 
Master Goldthred swagger about their wager as 
they list. ” 

“ It seems to me, mine host,” said Tressilian, “ that 
you know not well what to say about this kinsman 
of yours ; and that you can neither blame nor com- 
mend him without some twinge of conscience. ” 
“You have spoken truly, Master Tressilian,” 
replied Giles Gosling. “ There is Natural Affec- 
tion whimpering into one ear, ‘Giles, Giles, why 


KENILWORTH. 


31 


wilt thou take away the good name of thy own 
nephew ? Wilt thou defame thy sister’s son, Giles 
Gosling ? wilt thou defoul thine own nest, dis- 
honour thine own blood ? ’ And then, again, comes 
Justice, and says, * Here is a worthy guest as ever 
came to the bonny Black Bear; one who never 
challenged a reckoning, ’ (as I say to your face you 
never did, Master Tressilian — not that you have 
had cause,) * one who knows not why he came, so 
far as I can see, or when he is going away ; and 
wilt thou, being a publican, having paid scot and 
lot these thirty years in the town of Cumnor, and 
being at this instant head-borough, wilt thou suffer 
this guest of guests, this man of men, this six- 
hooped pot (as I may say) of a traveller, to fall 
into the meshes of thy nephew, who is known for 
a swasher and a desperate Dick, a carder and a 
dicer, a professor of the seven damnable sciences, 
if ever man took degrees in them ? ’ No, by 
Heaven ! I might wink, and let him catch such a 
small butterfly as Goldthred ; but thou, my guest, 
shall be forewarned, forearmed, so thou wilt but 
listen to thy trusty host.” 

“ Why, mine host, thy counsel shall not be cast 
away, ” replied Tressilian ; “ however, I must up- 
hold my share in this wager, having once passed 
my word to that effect. But lend me, I pray, some 
of thy counsel — This Foster, who or what is he, 
and why makes he such mystery of his female 
inmate ? ” 

“ Troth, ” replied Gosling, “ I can add but little 
to what you heard last night. He was one of 
Queen Mary’s Papists, and now he is one of Queen 
Elizabeth’s Protestants; he was an on-hanger of 
the Abbot of Abingdon, and now he lives as mas- 


KENILWORTH. 


ter of the Manor-house. Above all, he was poor 
and is rich. Folk talk of private apartments in 
his old waste mansion-house, bedizened fine enough 
to serve the Queen, God bless her. Some men 
think he found a treasure in the orchard, some 
that he sold himself to the devil for treasure, and 
some say that he cheated the Abbot out of the 
church plate, which was hidden in the old Manor- 
house at the Reformation. Rich, however, he is, 
and God and his conscience, with the devil per- 
haps besides, only know how he came by it. He 
has sulky ways too, breaking off intercourse with 
all that are of the place, as if he had either some 
strange secret to keep, or held himself to be made 
of another clay than we are. I think it likely my 
kinsman and he will quarrel, if Mike thrust his 
acquaintance on him ; and I am sorry that you, my 
worthy Master Tressilian, will still think of going 
in my nephew’s company.” 

Tressilian again answered him, that he would 
proceed with great caution, and that he should 
have no fears on his account ; in short, he bestowed 
on him all the customary assurances with which 
those who are determined on a rash action, are 
wont to parry the advice of their friends. 

Meantime, the traveller accepted the landlord’s 
invitation, and had just finished the excellent 
breakfast, which was served to him and Gosling 
by pretty Cicely, the beauty of the bar, when the 
hero of the preceding night, Michael Lambourne,(t) 
entered the apartment. His toilet had apparently 
cost him some labour, for his clothes, which differed 
from those he wore on his journey, were of the 
newest fashion, and put on with great attention to 
the display of his person. 


KENILWORTH. 


33 


“ By my faith, uncle, ” said the gallant, “ you 
made a wet night of it, and I feel it followed by a 
dry morning. I will pledge you willingly in a 
cup of bastard. — How, my pretty coz, Cicely ! 
why, I left you but a child in the cradle, and there 
thou stand ’st in thy velvet waistcoat, as tight a girl 
as England’s sun shines on. Know thy friends 
and kindred, Cicely, and come hither, child, that 
I may kiss thee, and give thee my blessing. ” 

“ Concern not yourself about Cicely, kinsman, ” 
said Giles Gosling, “ but e’en let her go her way, 
a’ God’s name; for although your mother were her 
father’s sister, yet that shall not make you and her 
cater-cousins. ” 

“Why, uncle,” replied Lambourne, “ think ’st 
thou I am an infidel, and would harm those of 
mine own house ? ” 

“ It is for no harm that I speak, Mike, ” an- 
swered his uncle, “ but a simple humour of precau- 
tion which I have. True, thou art as well gilded 
as a snake when he casts his old slough in the 
spring time ; but for all that, thou creepest not 
into my Eden. I will look after mine Eve, Mike, 
and so content thee. — But how brave thou be’st, 
lad ! To look on thee now, and compare thee with 
Master Tressilian here, in his sad-coloured riding- 
suit, who would not say that thou wert the real 
gentleman, and he the tapster’s boy?” 

“ Troth, uncle, ” replied Lambourne, “ no one 
would say so but one of your country-breeding, 
that knows no better. I will say, and I care not 
who hears me, there is something about the real 
gentry that few men come up to that are not born 
and bred to the mystery. I wot not where the 
trick lies; but although I can enter an ordinary 


34 


KENILWORTH. 


with as much audacity, rebuke the waiters and 
drawers as loudly, drink as deep a health, swear as 
round an oath, and fling my gold as freely about as 
any of the jingling spurs and white feathers that 
are around me, — yet, hang me if I can ever catch 
the true grace of it, though I have practised an 
hundred times. The man of the house sets me 
lowest at the board, and carves to me the last ; and 
the drawer says, — ‘ Coming, friend, ’ without any 
more reverence or regardful addition. But, hang 
it, let it pass ; care killed a cat. I have gentry 
enough to pass the trick on Tony Fire-the-Fagot, 
and that will do for the matter in hand. ” 

“ You hold your purpose, then, of visiting 
your old acquaintance ? ” said Tressilian to the 
adventurer. 

“ Ay, sir, ” replied Lambourne ; “ when stakes 
are made, the game must be played ; that is game- 
ster’s law, all over the world. You, sir, unless 
my memory fails me, (for I did steep it somewhat 
too deeply in the sack -butt,) took some share in 
my hazard ? ” 

“ I propose to accompany you in your adventure, M 
said Tressilian, “ if you will do me so much grace 
as to permit me ; and I have staked my share of 
the forfeit in the hands of our worthy host. ” 

“ That he hath, ” answered Giles Gosling, “ in as 
fair Harry-nobles as ever were melted into sack by 
a good fellow. So, luck to your enterprise, since 
you will needs venture on Tony Foster; but, by 
my credit, you had better take another draught be- 
fore you depart, for your welcome at the Hall, 
yonder, will be somewhat of the driest. And if 
you do get into peril, beware of taking to cold 
steel; but send for me, Giles Gosling the head- 


KENILWORTH. 


3 $ 

borough, and I may be able to make something 
out of Tony yet, for as proud as he is. ” 

The nephew dutifully obeyed his uncle’s hint, by 
taking a second powerful pull at the tankard, observ- 
ing, that his wit never served him so well as when 
he had washed his temples with a deep morning’s 
draught ; — and they set forth together for the 
habitation of Anthony Foster. 

The village of Cumnor is pleasantly built on a 
hill, and in a wooded park closely adjacent was 
situated the ancient mansion occupied at this time 
by Anthony Foster, of which the ruins may be 
still extant. The park was then full of large trees, 
and in particular, of ancient and mighty oaks, 
which stretched their giant arms over the high 
wall surrounding the demesne, thus giving it a mel- 
ancholy, secluded, and monastic appearance. The 
entrance to the park lay through an old-fashioned 
gateway in the outer wall, the door of which was 
formed of two huge oaken leaves, thickly studded 
with nails, like the gate of an old town. 

“ We shall be finely holped up here, ” said 
Michael Lambourne, looking at the gateway and 
gate, “ if this fellow’s suspicious humour should 
refuse us admission altogether, as it is like he may, 
in case this linsey-wolsey fellow of a mercer’s 
visit to his premises has disquieted him. But, 
no, ” he added, pushing the huge gate, which gave 
way, “ the door stands invitingly open ; and here 
we are within the forbidden ground, without other 
impediment than the passive resistance of a heavy 
oak door, moving on rusty hinges. ” 

They stood now in an avenue overshadowed by 
such old trees as we have described, and which 
had been bordered at one time by high hedges of 


3 6 


KENILWORTH. 


yew and holly. But these, having been untrimmed 
for many years, had run up into great bushes, or 
rather dwarf-trees, and now encroached, with their 
dark and melancholy boughs, upon the road which 
they once had screened. ' The avenue itself was 
grown up with grass, and, in one or two places, 
interrupted by piles of withered brushwood, which 
had been lopped from the trees cut down in the 
neighbouring park, and was here stacked for dry- 
ing. Formal walks and avenues, which, at differ- 
ent points, crossed this principal approach, were, 
in like manner, choked up and interrupted by 
piles of brushwood and billets, and in other places 
by underwood and brambles. Besides the general 
effect of desolation which is so strongly -impressed, 
whenever we behold the contrivances of man wasted 
and obliterated by neglect, and witness the marks 
of social life effaced gradually by the influence of 
vegetation, the size of the trees, and the outspread- 
ing extent of their boughs, diffused a gloom over 
the scene, even when the sun was at the highest, 
and made a proportional impression on the mind 
of those who visited it. This was felt even by 
Michael Lambourne, however alien his habits were 
to receiving any impressions, excepting from things 
which addressed themselves immediately to his 
passions. 

“ This wood is as dark as a wolf’s mouth,” said 
he to Tressilian, as they walked together slowly 
along the solitary and broken approach, and had 
just come in sight of the monastic front of the old 
mansion, with its shafted windows, brick walls, 
overgrown with ivy and creeping shrubs, and 
twisted stalks of chimneys of heavy stone-work. 
w And yet, ” continued Lambourne, “ it is fairly 


KENILWORTH. 


37 


done on the part of Foster too; for since he chooses 
not visitors, it is right to keep his place in a fash- 
ion that will invite few to trespass upon his pri- 
vacy. But had he been the Anthony I once knew 
him, these sturdy oaks had long since become the 
property of some honest woodmonger, and the 
manor-close here had looked lighter at midnight 
than it now does at noon, while Foster played fast 
and loose with the price, in some cunning corner 
in the purlieus of White-friars. * 

“ Was he then such an unthrift ?” asked Tressilian. 

“ He was, ” answered Lambourne, “ like the rest 
of us, no saint, and no saver. But what I liked 
worst of Tony was, that he loved to take his pleasure 
by himself, and grudged, as men say, every drop 
of water that went past his own mill. I have 
known him deal with such measures of wine when 
he was alone, as I would not have ventured on 
with aid of the best toper in Berkshire; — that, 
and some sway towards superstition, which he had 
by temperament, rendered him unworthy the com- 
pany of a good fellow. And now he has earthed 
himself here, in a den just befitting such a sly fox 
as himself. ” 

“ May I ask you, Master Lambourne, ” said Tres- 
silian, “ since your old companion’s humour jumps 
so little with your own, wherefore you are so de- 
sirous to renew acquaintance with him ? ” 

“ And may I ask you, in return, Master Tres- 
silian, ” answered Lambourne, “ wherefore you have 
shown yourself so desirous to accompany me on 
this party ? ” 

“ I told you my motive, ” said Tressilian, “ when 
I took share in your wager, — it was simple 
curiosity. ” 


3 * 


KENILWORTH. 


* La you there now ! * answered Lambourne : 
“ See how you civil and discreet gentlemen think 
to use us who live by the free exercise of our wits ! 
Had I answered your question by saying that it 
was simple curiosity which led me to visit my old 
comrade Anthony Foster, I warrant you had set it 
down for an evasion, and a turn of my trade. But 
any answer, I suppose, must serve my turn. * 

“ And wherefore should not bare curiosity, ” said 
Tressilian, “ be a sufficient reason for my taking 
this walk with you ? ” 

“ 0, content yourself, sir, ” replied Lambourne ; 
“ you cannot put the change on me so easy as you 
think, for I have lived among the quick-stirring 
spirits of the age too long, to swallow chaff for 
grain. You are a gentleman of birth and breeding 
— your bearing makes it good; of civil habits and 
fair reputation — your manners declare it, and my 
uncle avouches it ; and yet you associate yourself 
with a sort of scant-of-grace, as men call me ; and, 
knowing me to be such, you make yourself my 
companion in a visit to a man whom you are a 
stranger to, — and all out of mere curiosity, for- 
sooth ! — The excuse, if curiously balanced, would 
be found to want some scruples of just weight, or 
so. ” 

“ If your suspicions were just, ” said Tressilian, 
“ you have shown no confidence in me to invite or 
deserve mine. ” 

“ 0, if that be all, ” said Lambourne, “ my mo- 
tives lie above water. While this gold of mine 
lasts,” — taking out his purse, chucking it into 
the air, and catching it as it fell, — “I will make 
it buy pleasure, and when it is out, I must have 
more. Now, if this mysterious Lady of the Manor 


KENILWORTH. 


39 


— this fair Lindabrides of Tony Fire’-the-Fagot — 
be so admirable a piece as men say, why, there is 
chance that she may aid me to melt my nobles 
into groats ; and, again, if Anthony be so wealthy 
a chuff as report speaks him, he may prove the 
philosopher’s stone to me, and convert my groats 
into fair rose-nobles again. ” 

“ A comfortable proposal truly, ” said Tressilian ; 
“ but I see not what chance there is of accomplish- 
ing it. ” 

“ Not to-day, or perchance to-morrow,” answered 
Lambourne ; “ I expect not to catch the old jack 
till I have disposed my ground-baits handsomely. 
But I know something more of his affairs this 
morning than I did last night, and I will so use 
my knowledge that he shall think it more perfect 
than it is. — Nay, without expecting either pleas- 
ure or profit, or both, I had not stepped a stride 
within this manor, I can tell you ; for I promise 
you I hold our visit not altogether without risk. — 
But here we are, and we must make the best on’t. ” 

While he thus spoke, they had entered a large 
orchard which surrounded the house on two sides, 
though the trees, abandoned by the care of man, 
were overgrown and mossy, and seemed to bear 
little fruit. Those which had been formerly trained 
as espaliers, had now resumed their natural mode 
of growing, and exhibited grotesque forms, partak- 
ing of the original training which they had re- 
ceived. The greater part of the ground, which had 
once been parterres and flower-gardens, was suf- 
fered in like manner to run to waste, excepting a 
few patches which had been dug up, and planted 
with ordinary pot herbs. Some statues, which had 
ornamented the garden in its days of splendour, 


40 


KENILWORTH. 


were now thrown down from tlieir pedestals, and 
broken in pieces, and a large summer-house, hav- 
ing a heavy stone front, decorated with carving, 
representing the life and actions of Samson, was in 
the same dilapidated condition. 

They had just traversed this garden of the slug- 
gard, and were within a few steps of the door of 
the mansion, when Lambourne had ceased speak- 
ing ; a circumstance very agreeable to Tressilian, 
as it saved him the embarrassment of either com- 
menting upon or replying to the frank avowal 
which his companion had just made of the senti- 
ments and views which induced him to come 
hither. Lambourne knocked roundly and boldly 
at the huge door of the mansion, observing at the 
same time, he had seen a less strong one upon a 
county jail. It was not until they had knocked 
more than once, that an aged sour-visaged domes- 
tic reconnoitred them through a small square hole 
in the door, well secured with bars of iron, and 
demanded what they wanted. 

“ To speak with Master Foster instantly, on press- 
ing business of the state, ” was the ready reply of 
Michael Lambourne. 

“ Methinks you will find difficulty to make that 
good,” said Tressilian in a whisper to his com- 
panion, while the servant went to carry the mes- 
sage to his master. 

“ Tush, ” replied the adventurer ; " no soldier 
would go on were he always to consider when and 
how he should come off. Let us once obtain en- 
trance, and all will go well enough. ” 

In a short time the servant returned, and draw- 
ing with a careful hand both bolt and bar, opened 
the gate, which admitted them through an archway 


KENILWORTH. 


4i 


into a square court, surrounded by buildings. 
Opposite to the arch was another door, which the 
serving-man in like manner unlocked, and thus 
introduced them into a stone-paved parlour, where 
there was but little furniture, and that of the rud- 
est and most ancient fashion. The windows were 
tall and ample, reaching almost to the roof of the 
room, which was composed of black oak; those 
opening to the quadrangle tfere obscured by the 
height of the surrounding buildings, and, as they 
were traversed with massive shafts of solid stone- 
work, and thickly painted with religious devices, 
and scenes taken from Scripture history, by no 
means admitted light in proportion to their size ; 
and what did penetrate through them, partook of 
the dark and gloomy tinge of the stained glass. 

Tressilian and his guide had time enough to ob- 
serve all these particulars, for they waited some 
space in the apartment ere the present master of 
the mansion at length made his appearance. Pre- 
pared as he was to see an inauspicious and ill- 
looking person, the ugliness of Anthony Foster 
considerably exceeded what Tressilian had antici- 
pated. He was of middle stature, built strongly, 
but so clumsily as to border on deformity, and to 
give all his motions the ungainly awkwardness of 
a left-legged and left-handed man. His hair, in 
arranging which men at that time, as at present, 
were very nice and curious, instead of being care- 
fully cleaned and disposed into short curls, or else 
set up on end, as is represented in old paintings, 
in a manner resembling that used by fine gentle- 
men of our own day, escaped in sable negligence 
from under a furred bonnet,, and hung in elf-locks, 
which seemed strangers to the comb, over his 


42 


KENILWORTH. 


rugged brows, and around his very singular and 
unprepossessing countenance. His keen dark eyes 
were deep set beneath broad and shaggy eyebrows, 
and as they were usually bent on the ground, 
seemed as if they were themselves ashamed of the 
expression natural to them, and were desirous to 
conceal it from the observation of men. At times, 
however, when, more intent on observing others, 
he suddenly raised them, and fixed them keenly 
on those with whom he conversed, they seemed to 
express both the fiercer passions, and the power of 
mind which could at will suppress or disguise the 
intensity of inward feeling. The features which 
corresponded with these eyes and this form were 
irregular, and marked so as to be indelibly fixed 
on the mind of him who had once seen them. 
Upon the whole, as Tressilian could not help ac- 
knowledging to himself, the Anthony Foster who 
now stood before them was the last person, judg- 
ing from personal appearance, upon whom one 
would have chosen to intrude an unexpected and 
undesired visit. His attire was a doublet of rus- 
set leather, like those worn by the better sort of 
country folk, girt with a buff belt, in which was 
stuck on the right side a long knife, or dudgeon 
dagger, and on the other a cutlass. He raised his 
eyes as he entered the room, and fixed a keenly 
penetrating glance upon his two visitors, then cast 
them down as if counting his steps, while he ad- 
vanced slowly into the middle of the room, and 
said, in a low and smothered tone of voice, “ Let 
me pray you, gentlemen, to tell me the cause of 
this visit. ” 

He looked as if he expected the answer from 
Tressilian; so true was Lambourne’s observation, 


KENILWORTH. 


43 


that the superior air of breeding and dignity shone 
through the disguise of an inferior dress. But it 
was Michael who replied to him, with the easy 
familiarity of an old friend, and a tone which 
seemed unembarrassed by any doubt of the most 
cordial reception. 

“ Ha! my dear friend and ingle, Tony Foster! ” 
he exclaimed, seizing upon the unwilling hand, 
and shaking it with such emphasis as almost to 
stagger the sturdy frame of the person whom ho 
addressed ; “ how fares it with you for many a 
long year ? — What ! have you altogether forgot- 
ten your friend, gossip, and playfellow, Michael 
Lambourne ? ” 

“ Michael Lambourne ! ” said Foster, looking at 
him a moment ; then dropping his eyes, and with 
little ceremony extricating his hand from the 
friendly grasp of the person by whom he was ad- 
dressed, “ are you Michael Lambourne ? ” 

“ Ay ; sure as you are Anthony Foster, ” replied 
Lambourne. 

“ ’Tis well, ” answered his sullen host ; “ and 
what may Michael Lambourne expect from his 
visit hither ? ” 

“ Voto a Dios , ” answered Lambourne, “ I ex- 
pected a better welcome than I am like to meet, I 
think . " 

“ Why, thou gallows-bird — thou jail-rat — thou 
friend of the hangman and his customers, ” replied 
Foster, “ hast thou the assurance to expect counte- 
nance from any one whose neck is beyond the com- 
pass of a Tyburn tippet ? ” 

“ It may be with me as you say, ” replied Lam- 
bourne ; “ and suppose I grant it to be so for argu- 
ment’s sake, I were still good enough society for 


44 


KENILWORTH. 


mine ancient friend Anthony Fire -the -Fagot, though 
he be, for the present, by some indescribable title, 
the master of Cumnor-Place. ” 

“Hark you, Michael Lambourne, ” said Foster; 
“ you are a gambler now, and live by the counting 
of chances — Compute me the odds that I do not, 
on this instant, throw you out of that window into 
the ditch there. ” 

“ Twenty to one that you do not, ” answered the 
sturdy visitor. 

“ And wherefore, I pray you ? ” demanded An- 
thony Foster, setting his teeth and compressing 
his lips, like one who endeavours to suppress some 
violent internal emotion. 

“ Because, ” said Lambourne, coolly, “ you dare 
not for your life lay a finger on me. I am younger 
and stronger than you, and have in me a double 
portion of the fighting devil, though not, it may be, 
quite so much of the undermining fiend, that finds 
an underground way to his purpose — who hides 
halters under folk’s pillows, and who puts ratsbane 
into their porridge, as the stage-play says. ” 

Foster looked at him earnestly, then turned 
away, and paced the room twice, with the same 
steady and considerate pace with which he had 
entered it ; then suddenly came back, and extended 
his hand to Michael Lambourne, saying, “ Be not 
wroth with me, good Mike ; I did but try whether 
thou hadst parted with aught of thine old and 
honourable frankness, which your enviers and 
backbiters called saucy impudence. ” 

“ Let them call it what they will,” said Michael 
Lambourne, “ it is the commodity we must carry 
through the world with us. — Uds daggers! I tell 
thee, man, mine own stock of assurance was too 


KENILWORTH. 


45 


small to trade upon, I was fain to take in a ton or 
two more of brass at every port where I touched in 
the voyage of life ; and I started overboard what 
modesty and scruples I had remaining, in order to 
make room for the stowage.” 

“ Nay, nay,” replied Foster, “ touching scruples 
and modesty, you sailed hence in ballast. — But who 
is this gallant, honest Mike ? — is he a Corinthian 
— a cutter like thyself ? ” 

“I prithee, know Master Tressilian, bully Foster” 
replied Lambourne, presenting his friend in answer 
to his friend’s question, “ know him and honour him, 
for he is a gentleman of many admirable qualities , 
and though he traffics not in my line of business, 
at least so far as I know, he has, nevertheless, a just 
respect and admiration for artists of our class. He 
will come to in time, as seldom fails ; but as yet he 
is only a Neophyte, only a Proselyte, and frequents 
the company of cocks of the game, as a puny fencer 
does the schools of the masters, to see how a foil is 
handled by the teachers of defence.” 

“ If such be his quality, I will pray your com- 
pany in another chamber, honest Mike, for what I 
have to say to thee is for thy private ear. — Mean- 
while, I pray you, sir, to abide us in this apartment, 
and without leaving it — there be those in this 
house who would be alarmed by the sight of a 
stranger.” 1 

Tressilian acquiesced, and the two worthies left 
the apartment together, in which he remained alone 
to await their return. 

1 Note I. — Foster, Lambourne, and the Black Bear. 


CHAPTEE IV. 


Not serve two masters ? — Here’s a youth will try it — 
Would fain serve God, yet give the devil his due ; 

Says grace before he doth a deed of villainy, 

And returns his thanks devoutly when ’tis acted. 

Old Play. 

The room into which the Master of Cumnor-Place 
conducted his worthy visitant, was of greater ex- 
tent than that in which they had at first conversed, 
and had yet more the appearance of dilapidation. 
Large oaken presses, filled with shelves of the same 
wood, surrounded the room, and had, at one time, 
served for the arrangement of a numerous collection 
of books, many of which yet remained, but torn and 
defaced, covered with dust, deprived of their costly 
clasps and bindings, and tossed together in heaps 
upon the shelves, as things altogether disregarded, 
and abandoned to the pleasure of every spoiler. The 
very presses themselves seemed to have incurred 
the hostility of those enemies of learning, who had 
destroyed the volumes with which they had been 
heretofore filled. They were, in several places, dis- 
mantled of their shelves, and otherwise broken and 
damaged, and were, moreover, mantled with cob- 
webs, and covered with dust. 

“ The men who wrote these books,” said Lam- 
bourne, looking round him, “ little thought whose 
keeping they were to fall into.” 

“ Nor what yeoman’s service they were to do me,” 
quoth Anthony Foster — “ the cook hath used them 


KENILWORTH. 


47 


for scouring his pewter, and the groom hath had 
nought else to clean my boots with this many a 
month past.” 

“And yet,” said Lambourne, “I have been in 
cities where such learned commodities would have 
been deemed too good for such offices.” 

“ Pshaw, pshaw,” answered Foster, “ they are 
Popish trash, every one of them, — private studies 
of the mumping old Abbot of Abingdon. The 
nineteenthly of a pure gospel sermon were worth 
a cartload of such rakings of the kennel of Rome.” 

“ Gad-a-mercy, Master Tony Fire-the-Fagot ! ” said 
Lambourne, by way of reply. 

Foster scowled darkly at him, as he replied, 
“ Hark ye, friend Mike ; forget that name, and the 
passage which it relates to, if you would not have 
our newly-revived comradeship die a sudden and a 
violent death.” 

“ Why,” said Michael Lambourne, “ you were wont 
to glory in the share you had in the death of the 
two old heretical bishops.” 

“ That,” said his comrade, * was while I was in 
the gall of bitterness and bond of iniquity, and ap- 
plies not to my walk or my ways, now that I am 
called forth into the lists. Mr. Melchisedek Maul- 
text compared my misfortune in that matter to that 
of the Apostle Paul, who kept the clothes of the 
witnesses who stoned Saint Stephen. He held forth 
on the matter three Sabbaths past, and illustrated 
the same by the conduct of an honourable person 
present, meaning me.” 

“ I prithee peace, Foster,” said Lambourne ; “ for 
I know not how it is, I have a sort of creeping comes 
over my skin when I hear the devil quote Scrip- 
ture ; and besides, man, how couldst thou have the 


48 


KENILWORTH. 


heart to quit that convenient old religion, which 
you could slip off or on as easily as your glove ? Do 
I not remember how you were wont to carry your 
conscience to confession, as duly as the month came 
round ? and when thou hadst it scoured, and bur- 
nished, and whitewashed by the priest, thou wert ever 
ready for the worst villainy which could be devised, 
like a child who is always readiest to rush into the 
mire when he has got his Sunday’s clean jerkin on/' 

“ Trouble not thyself about my conscience,” said 
Foster, “it is a thing thou canst not understand, 
having never had one of thine own. But let us 
rather to the point, and say to me, in one word, what 
is thy business with me, and what hopes have drawn 
thee hither ? ” 

“ The hope of bettering myself, to be sure,” 
answered Lapibourne, “ as the old woman said, when 
she leapt over the bridge at Kingston. Look you, this 
purse has all that is left of as round a sum as a man 
would wish to carry in his slop-pouch. You are here 
well established, it would seem, and, as I think, well 
befriended, for men talk of thy being under some 
special protection — nay, stare not like a pig that is 
stuck, mon, thou canst not dance in a net and they 
not see thee ? Now I know such protection is not 
purchased for nought; you must have services to 
render for it, and in these I propose to help thee.” 

“ But how if I lack no assistance from thee, 
Mike? I think thy modesty might suppose that 
were a case possible.” 

“ That is to say,” retorted Lambourne, “ that you 
would engross the whole work, rather than divide 
the reward — but be not over-greedy, Anthony. Cov- 
etousness bursts the sack, and spills the grain. Look 
you, when the huntsman goes to kill a stag, he takes 


KENILWORTH. 


49 


with him more dogs than one — He has the stanch 
lyme-hound to track the wounded buck over hill and 
dale, but he hath also the fleet gaze-hound to kill 
him at view. Thou art the lyme-hound, I am the 
gaze-hound, and thy patron will need the aid of both, 
aud can well afford to requite it. Thou hast deep 
sagacity — an unrelenting purpose — a steady long- 
breathed malignity of nature, that surpasses mine. 
But then, I am the bolder, the quicker, the more 
ready, both at action and expedient. Separate, our 
properties are not so perfect; but unite them, and 
we drive the world before us. How sayst thou — 
shall we hunt in couples ? ” 

“ It is a currish proposal — thus to thrust thyself 
upon my private matters,” replied Foster; “but 
thou wert ever an ill-nurtured whelp.” 

“ You shall have no cause to say so, unless you 
spurn my courtesy,” said Michael Lambourne ; “ but 
if so, keep thee well from me. Sir Knight, as the 
romance has it. I will either share your counsels 
or traverse them ; for I have come here to be busy, 
either with thee or against thee.” 

“Well,” said Anthony Foster, “since thou dost 
leave me so fair a choice, I will rather be thy friend 
than thine enemy. Thou art right ; I can prefer 
thee to the service of a patron, who has enough of 
means to make lis both, and an hundred more. And, 
to say truth, thou art well qualified for his service. 
Boldness and dexterity he demands — ther* justice- 
books bear witness in thy favour; no starting at 
scruples in his service — why, who ever suspected 
thee of a conscience ? — an assurance he must have, 
who would follow a courtier — and thy brow is as 
impenetrable as a Milan visor. There is but one 
thing I would fain see amended in thee.” 


50 


KENILWORTH. 


“And what is that, my most precious friend 
Anthony ! ” replied Lambourne ; “ for I swear by 
the pillow of the Seven Sleepers, I will not be 
slothful in amending it.” 

“ Why, you gave a sample of it even now,” said 
Foster. “ Your speech twangs too much of the 
old stamp, and you garnish it ever and anon with 
singular oaths, that savour of Papistrie. Besides, 
your exterior man is altogether too deboshed and 
irregular to become one of his lordship’s followers, 
since he has a reputation to keep up in the eye of 
the world. You must somewhat reform your dress, 
upon a more grave and composed fashion ; wear 
your cloak on both shoulders, and your falling band 
unrumpled and well starched — You must enlarge 
the brim of your beaver, and diminish the super- 
fluity of your trunk-hose — go to church, or, which 
will be better, to meeting, at least once a month - — 
protest only upon your faith and conscience — lay 
aside your swashing look, and never touch the hilt 
of your sword, but when you would draw the carnal 
weapon in good earnest.” 

“ By this light, Anthony, thou art mad,” answered 
Lambourne, “ and hast described rather the gentle- 
man-usher to a puritan’s wife, than the follower of 
an ambitious courtier ! Yes, such a thing as thou 
wouldst make of me, should wear a book at his 
girdle instead of a poniard, and might just be 
suspected of manhood enough to squire a proud 
dame-citizen to the lecture at Saint Antonlin’s, and 
quarrel in her cause with any flat-capp’d thread- 
maker that would take the wall of her. He must 
ruffle it in another sort that would walk to court 
in a nobleman’s train.” 

“ O, content you, sir,” replied Foster, “ there is 


KENILWORTH. 


5 * 


a change since you knew the English world; and 
there are those who can hold their way through the 
boldest courses, and the most secret, and yet never 
a swaggering word, or an oath, or a profane word 
in their conversation.” 

“That is to say,” replied Lambourne, “they are 
in a trading copartnery, to do the devil’s business 
without mentioning his name in the firm? — Well, 
I will do my best to counterfeit, rather than lose 
ground in this new world, since thou sayest it is 
grown so precise. But, Anthony, what is the name 
of this nobleman, in whose service I am to turn 
hypocrite ? ” 

“Aha ! Master Michael, are you there with your 
bears ? ” said Foster, with a grim smile ; “ and is this 
the knowledge you pretend of my concernments ? — 
How know you now there is such a person in mum 
natur a ,. and that I have not been putting a jape upon 
you all this time ? ” 

“ Thou put a jape on me, thou soddenbrained 
gull?” answered Lambourne, nothing daunted; 
“ why, dark and muddy as thou think’ st thyself, I 
would engage in a day’s space to see as clear through 
thee and thy concernments, as thou call’st them, as 
through the filthy horn of an old stable lantern.” 

At this moment their conversation was inter- 
rupted by a scream from the next apartment. 

“ By the holy Cross of Abingdon,” exclaimed 
Anthony Foster, forgetting his Protestantism in his 
alarm, “ I am a ruined man l ” 

So saying, he rushed into the apartment whence 
the scream issued, followed by Michael Lambourne. 
But to account for the sounds which interrupted 
their conversation, it is necessary to recede a little 
way in our narrative, t 


KENILWORTH. 


5 * 

It has been already observed, that when Lam* 
bourne accompanied Foster into the library, they 
left Tressilian alone in the ancient parlour. His 
dark eye followed them forth of the apartment with 
a glance of contempt, a part of which his mind 
instantly transferred to himself, for having stooped 
to be even for a moment their familiar companion. 
“These are the associates, Amy,” — it was thus he 
communed with himself, — “ to which thy cruel 
levity — thine unthinking and most unmerited false- 
hood, has condemned him, of whom his friends once 
hoped far other things, and who now scorns himself 
as he will be scorned by others, for the baseness he 
stoops to for the love of thee ! But I will not leave 
the pursuit of thee, once the object of my purest 
and most devoted affection, though to me thou canst 
henceforth be nothing hut a thing to weep over — 
I will save thee from thy betrayer, and from thyself 
— I will restore thee to thy parent — to thy God. 
I cannot bid the bright star again sparkle in the 
sphere it has shot from, but” 

A slight noise in the apartment interrupted his 
reverie; he looked round, and in the beautiful and 
richly-attired female who entered at that instant by 
a side-door, he recognised the object of his search. 
The first impulse arising from this discovery, urged 
him to conceal his face with the collar of his cloak, 
until he should find a favourable moment of making 
himself known. But his purpose was disconcerted 
by the young lady, (she was not above eighteen 
years old,) who ran joyfully towards him, and, 
pulling him by the cloak, said playfully, “ Nay, my 
sweet friend, after I have waited for you so long, 
you come not to my bower to play the masquer — 
You are arraigned of treason to true love and fond 


KENILWORTH. 


53 


affection ; and you must stand up at the bar, and 
answer it with face uncovered — how say you, guilty 
or not ? ” 

“ Alas, Amy ! ” said Tressilian, in a low and melan- 
choly tone, as he suffered her to draw the mantle 
from his face. The sound of his voice, and still 
more the unexpected sight of his face, changed in 
an instant the lady’s playful mood — She staggered 
back, turned as pale as death, and put her hands 
before her face. Tressilian was himself for a moment 
much overcome, but seeming suddenly to remember 
the necessity of using an opportunity which might 
not again occur, he said in a low tone, “ Amy, fear 
me not.” 

“ Why should I fear you ? ” said the lady, with- 
drawing her hands from her beautiful face, which 
was now covered with crimson, — “ why should I 
fear you, Mr. Tressilian ? — or wherefore have you 
intruded yourself into my dwelling, uninvited, sir, 
and unwished for ? ” 

“ Your dwelling, Amy ! ” said Tressilian. “ Alas ! 
is a prison your dwelling ? — a prison, guarded by 
one of the most sordid of men, but not a greater 
wretch than his employer ! ” 

“ This house is mine,” said Amy, “ mine while I 
choose to inhabit it — If it is my pleasure to live in 
seclusion, who shall gainsay me ? ” 

“ Your father, maiden,” answered Tressilian, “ your 
broken-hearted father ; who dispatched me in quest 
of you with that authority which he cannot exert 
in person. Here is his letter, written while he 
blessed his pain of body which somewhat stunned 
the agony of his mind.” 

“ The pain ! — is my father then ill ? ” said the 
lady. 


54 


KENILWORTH. 


“ So ill,” answered Tressilian, “ that even your 
utmost haste may not restore him to health ; but all 
shall be instantly prepared for your departure, the 
instant you yourself will give consent.” 

“ Tressilian,” answered the lady, “ I cannot, I 
must not, I dare not leave this place. Go back to 
my father — tell him I will obtain leave to see him 
within twelve hours from hence. Go back, Tressi- 
lian — tell him I am well, I am happy — happy could 
I think he was so — tell him not to fear that I will 
come, and in such a manner that all the grief Amy 
has given him shall be forgotten — the poor Amy is 
now greater than she dare name. — Go, good Tres- 
silian — I have injured thee too, but believe me I 
have power to heal the wounds I have caused — I 
robbed you of a childish heart, which was not worthy 
of you, and I can repay the loss with honours and 
advancement.” 

“ Do you say this to me, Amy ! — Do you offer me 
pageants of idle ambition, for the quiet peace you 
have robbed me of ? — But be it so — I came not 
to upbraid, but to serve and to free you. — You can- 
not disguise it from me ; you are a prisoner. Other- 
wise your kind heart — for it was once a kind heart 
— would have beefi already at your father’s bed- 
side. — Come — poor, deceived, unhappy maiden ! — 
all shall be forgot — all shall be forgiven. Fear not 
my importunity for what regarded our contract — 
it was a dream, and I have awaked — But come — 
your father yet lives — Come, and one word of affec- 
tion — one tear of penitence, will efface the memory 
of all that has passed.” 

“ Have I not already said, Tressilian,” replied 
she, “ that I will surely come to my father, and that 
without farther delay than is necessary to discharge 


KENILWORTH. 


5 $ 


other and equally binding duties ? — Go, carry him 
the news — I come as sure as there is light in 
heaven — that is, when I obtain permission.” 

“ Permission ? — permission to visit your father 
on his sick-bed, perhaps on his death-bed ! ” repeated 
Tressilian, impatiently ; “and permission from whom? 
— From the villain, who, under disguise of friend- 
ship, abused every duty of hospitality, and stole 
thee from thy father’s roof ! ” 

“ Do him no slander, Tressilian ! — He whom 
thou speakest of wears a sword as sharp as thine — 
sharper, vain man — for the best deeds thou hast 
ever done in peace or war, were as unworthy to 
be named with his, as thy obscure rank to match 
itself with the sphere he moves in. — Leave me I 
Go, do mine errand to my father, and when he 
next sends to me, let him choose a more welcome 
messenger.” 

“ Amy,” replied Tressilian, calmly, “ thou canst 
not move me by thy reproaches. — Tell me one 
thing, that I may bear at least one ray of comfort 
to my aged friend — This rank of his which thou 
dost boast — dost thou share it with him, Amy ? — 
Does he claim a husband’s right to control thy 
motions ? ” 

“ Stop thy base unma'nnered tongue ! ” said the 
lady; “to no question that derogates from my 
honour, do I deign an answer.” 

“You have said enough in refusing to reply,” 
answered Tressilian ; “ and mark me, unhappy as 
thou art, I am armed with thy father’s full autho- 
rity to command thy obedience, and I will save thee 
from the slavery of sin and of sorrow, even despite 
of thyself, Amy.” 

“ Menace no violence here !” exclaimed the 


5 « 


KENILWORTH. 


lady, drawing back from him, and alarmed at the 
determination expressed in his look and manner ; 
“ threaten me not, Tressilian, for I have means to 
repel force.” 

“ But not. I trust, the wish to use them in so evil 
a cause ? ” said Tressilian. “ With thy will — thine 
uninfluenced, free, and natural will, Amy, thou canst 
not choose this state of slavery and dishonour — thou 
hast been bound by some spell — entrapped by some 
deceit — art now detained by some compelled vow. 

— But thus I break the charm — Amy, in the name 
of thine excellent, thy broken-hearted father, I 
command thee to follow me ! ” 

As he spoke, he advanced and extended his arm, 
as with the purpose of laying hold upon her. But 
she shrunk hack from his grasp, and uttered the 
scream which, as we before noticed, brought into 
the apartment Lambourne and Foster. 

The latter exclaimed, as soon as he entered, “ Fire 
and fagot ! what have we here ? ” Then addressing 
the lady, in a tone betwixt entreaty and command, 
he added, “ Uds precious ! madam, what make you 
here out of bounds? — Retire — retire — there is 
life and death in this matter. — And you, friend, 
whoever you may be, leave this house — out with 
you, before my dagger’s hilt and your costard 
become acquainted — Draw, Mike, and rid us of 
the knave!” 

“ Not I, on my soul,” replied Lambourne ; u he 
came hither in my company, and he is safe from me 
by cutter’s law, at least till we meet again. • — But 
hark ye, my Cornish comrade, you have brought 
a Cornish flaw of wind with you hither, a hurricanoe 
as they call it in the Indies. Make yourself scarce 

— depart — vanish — or we’ll have you summoned 


KENILWORTH. 


57 


before the Mayor of Halgaver, and that before 
Dudman and Ramhead meet .” 1 

“ Away, base groom ! ” said Tressilian — “ And 
you, madam, fare you well — what life lingers in 
your father’s bosom will leave him, at the news I 
have to tell.” 

He departed, the lady saying faintly as he left 
the room, “ Tressilian, be not rash — say no scandal 
of me.” 

“ Here is proper gear,” said Foster. “ I pray you 
go to your chamber, my lady, and let us consider 
how this is to be answered — nay, tarry not.” 

“I move not at your command, sir,” answered 
the lady. 

“Nay, but you must, fair lady,” replied Foster; 
“ excuse my freedom, but, by blood and nails, this 
is no time to strain courtesies — you must go to your 
chamber. — Mike, follow that meddling coxcomb, 
and, as you desire to thrive, see him safely clear of 
the premises, while I bring this headstrong lady to 
reason — Draw thy tool, man, and after him.” 

“ I’ll follow him,” said Michael Lambourne, “and 
see him fairly out of Flanders — But for hurting a 
man I have drunk my morning’s draught withal, ’t is 
clean against my conscience.” So saying, he left 
the apartment. 

Tressilian, meanwhile, with hasty steps, pursued 
the first path which promised to conduct him through 
the wild and overgrown park in which the mansion 
of Foster was situated. Haste and distress of mind 
led his steps astray, and instead of taking the avenue 
which led towards the village, he chose another, 
which, after he had pursued it for some time with a 

1 Two headlands on the Cornish coast. The expressions are 
proverbial. 


5 « 


KENILWORTH. 


hasty and reckless step, conducted him to the other 
side of the demesne, where a postern-door opened 
through the wall, and led into the open country. 

Tressilian paused an instant. It was indifferent 
to him by what road he left a spot now so odious 
to his recollections ; but it was probable that the 
postern-door was locked, and his retreat by that 
pass rendered impossible. 

“ I must make the attempt, however,” he said to 
himself ; “ the only means of reclaiming this lost — 
this miserable — this still most lovely and most 
unhappy girl — must rest in her father’s appeal to 
the broken laws of his country — I must haste to 
apprise him of this heart-rending intelligence.” 

As Tressilian, thus conversing with himself, 
approached to try some means of opening the door, 
or climbing over it, he perceived there was a key put 
into the lock from the outside. It turned round, 
the bolt revolved, and a cavalier, who entered, 
muffled in his riding-cloak, and wearing a slouched 
hat with a drooping feather, stood at once within four 
yards of him who was desirous of going out. They 
exclaimed at once, in tones of resentment and sur- 
prise, the one “ Varney ! ” the other “ Tressilian ! ” 

“ What make you here ? ” was the stern question 
put by the stranger to Tressilian, when the moment 
of surprise was past — “ What make you here, where 
your presence is neither expected nor desired ? ” 

“Nay, Varney,” replied Tressilian, “what make 
you here ? Are you come to triumph over the 
innocence you have destroyed, as the vulture or 
carrion-crow comes to batten on the lamb, whose 
eyes it has first plucked out ? — Or are you come 
to encounter the merited vengeance of an honest 
man ? — Draw, dog, and defend thyself I ” 


KENILWORTH. 


59 


Tressilian drew his sword as he spoke, but Var- 
ney only laid his hand on the hilt of his own, as 
he replied, “ Thou art mad, Tressilian — I own 
appearances are against me, but by every oath a 
priest can make, or a man can swear, Mistress Amy 
Robsart hath had no injury from me ; and in truth 
I were somewhat loath to hurt you in this cause — 
Thou know’st I can fight” 

“ I have heard thee say so, Varney,” replied 
Tressilian ; “ but now, methinks, I would fain have 
some better evidence than thine own word.” 

“ That shall not be lacking, if blade and hilt be 
but true to me,” answered Varney ; and drawing 
his sword with the right hand, he threw his cloak 
around his left, (7c) and attacked Tressilian with a 
vigour which, for a moment, seemed to give him the 
advantage of the combat. But this advantage lasted 
not long. Tressilian added to a spirit determined 
on revenge, a hand and eye admirably well adapted 
to the use of the rapier ; so that Varney, finding 
himself hard pressed in his turn, endeavoured to 
avail himself of his superior strength, by closing 
with his adversary. For this purpose, he hazarded 
the receiving one of Tressilian’s passes in his cloak, 
wrapt as it was around his arm, and ere his adver- 
sary could extricate his rapier thus entangled, he 
closed with him, shortening his own sword at the 
same time, with the purpose of dispatching him. 
But Tressilian was on his . guard, and unsheathing 
his poniard, parried with the blade of that weapon 
the home-thrust which would otherwise have fin- 
ished the combat, and, in the struggle which fol- 
lowed, displayed so much address, as might have 
confirmed the opinion that he drew his origin from 
Cornwall, whose natives are such masters in the art 


6o 


KENILWORTH. 


of wrestling, as, were the games of antiquity revived, 
might enable them to challenge all Europe to the 
ring. Varney, in his ill-advised attempt, received 
a fall so sudden and violent, that his sword flew 
several paces from his hand, and ere he could re- 
cover his feet, that of his antagonist was pointed to 
his throat. 

“Give me the instant means of relieving the vic- 
tim of thy treachery,” said Tressilian, “ or take the 
last look of your Creator’s blessed sun ! ” 

And while Varney, too confused or too sullen to 
reply, made a sudden effort to arise, his adversary 
drew back his arm, and would have executed his 
threat, but that the blow was arrested by the grasp 
of Michael Lainbourne, who, directed by the clash- 
ing of swords, had come up just in time to save the 
life of Varney. 

“ Come, come, comrade,” said Lambourne, “ here 
is enough done, and more than enough — put up 
your fox, and let us be jogging — The Black Bear 
growls for us.” 

“ Off, abject ! ” said Tressilian, striking himself 
free of Lambourne’s grasp ; “ darest thou come be- 
twixt me and mine enemy ? ” 

“ Abject ! abject ! ” repeated Lambourne ; “ that 
shall be answered with cold steel whenever a bowl 
of sack has washed out memory of the morning’s 
draught that we had together. In the meanwhile, 
do you see, shog — tramp — begone — we are two 
to one.” 

He spoke truth, for Varney had taken the oppor- 
tunity to regain his weapon, and Tressilian perceived 
it was madness to press the quarrel farther against 
such odds. He took his purse from his side, and 
taking out two gold nobles, flung them to Lam- 


KENILWORTH. 


61 


bourne ; " There, caitiff, is thy morning wage — 
thou shalt not say thou hast been my guide unhired. 
— Varney, farewell — we shall meet where there 
are nene to come betwixt us.” So saying, he turned 
round and departed through the postern-door. 

Varney seemed to want the inclination, or per- 
haps the power, (for his fall had been a severe one,) 
to follow his retreating enemy. But he glared 
darkly as he disappeared, and then addressed Lam- 
bourne ; “ Art thou a comrade of Foster’s, good 
fellow ? ” 

“Sworn friends, as the haft is to the knife,” 
replied Michael Lambourne. 

“ Here is a broad piece for thee — follow yonder 
fellow, and see where he takes earth, and bring me 
word up to the mansion-house here. Cautious and 
silent, thou knave, as thou valuest thy throat.” 

“ Enough said,” replied Lambourne ; “ I can draw 
on a scent as well as a sleuth-hound.” 

“ Begone, then,” said Varney, sheathing his rap- 
ier ; and, turning his back on Michael Lambourne, 
he walked slowly towards the house. Lambourne 
stopped but an instant to gather the nobles which 
his late companion had flung towards him so un- 
ceremoniously, and muttered to himself, while he 
put them up in his purse along with the gratuity of 
Varney, “ I spoke to yonder gulls of Eldorado — By 
Saint Anthony, there is no Eldorado for men of 
our stamp equal to bonny Old England ! It rains 
nobles, by Heaven — they lie on the grass as thick 
as dewdrops — you may have them for gathering. 
And if I have not my share of such glittering dew- 
drops, may my sword melt like an icicle !” 




CHAPTER V. 

— ... He was a man 

Versed in the world as pilot in his compass. 

The needle pointed ever to that interest 
Which was his loadstar, and he spread his sails 
With vantage to the gale of others’ passion. 

The Deceiver — A Tragedy. 

Anthony Foster was still engaged in debate 
with his fair guest, who treated with scorn every 
entreaty and request that she would retire to her 
own apartment, when a whistle was heard at the 
entrance-door of the mansion. 

“We are fairly sped now,” said Foster; "yon- 
der is thy lord’s signal, and what to say about the 
disorder which has happened in this household, by 
my conscience, I know not. Some evil fortune dogs 
the heels of that unhanged rogue Lambourne, and 
he has ’scaped the gallows against every chance, to 
come back and be the ruin of me ! ” 

“ Peace, sir,” said the lady, “ and undo the gate 
to your master. — My lord ! my dear lord ! ” she 
then exclaimed, hastening to the entrance of the 
apartment ; then added, with a voice expressive of 
disappointment,—" Pooh ! it is but Richard Varney.” 

“ Ay, madam,” said Varney, entering and salut- 
ing the lady with a respectful obeisance, which she 
returned with a careless mixture of negligence and 
of displeasure, “ it is but Richard Varney ; but 
even the first grey cloud should be acceptable, when 


KENILWOUTH. 63 

it lightens in the east, because it announces the ap- 
proach of the blessed sun.” 

‘‘How! comes my lord hither to-night?” said 
the lady, in joyful, yet startled agitation ; and An- 
thony Foster caught up the word, and echoed the 
question. Varney replied to the lady, that his lord 
purposed to attend her, and would have proceeded 
with some compliment, when, running to the door 
of the parlour, she called aloud, " Janet — Janet — 
come to my tiring-room instantly.” Then returning 
to Varney, she asked if her lord sent any farther 
commendations to her. 

“ This letter, honoured madam,” said he, taking 
from his bosom a small parcel wrapt in scarlet silk, 
“and with it a token to the Queen of his Affec- 
tions.” With eager speed the lady hastened to 
undo the silken string which surrounded the little 
packet, and failing to unloose readily the knot with 
which it was secured, she again called loudly on 
Janet, “Bring me a knife — scissors — aught that 
may undo this envious knot ! ” 

“ May not my poor poniard serve, honoured 
madam,” said Varney, presenting a small dagger of 
exquisite workmanship, which hung in his Turkey- 
leather sword-belt. 

“ No, sir,” replied the lady, rejecting the instru- 
ment which he offered — “ Steel poniard shall cut 
no true-love knot of mine.” 

“ It has cut many, however,” said Anthony Fos- 
ter, half aside, and looking at Varney. By this time 
the knot was disentangled without any other help 
than the neat and nimble fingers of Janet, (Z) a simply- 
attired pretty maiden, the daughter of Anthony 
Foster, who came running at the repeated call of 
her mistress. A necklace of orient pearl, the com- 


6 4 


KENILWORTH. 


panion of a perfumed billet, was now hastily pro- 
duced from the packet. The lady gave the one, 
after a slight glance, to the charge of her attendant, 
while she read, or rather devoured, the contents of 
the other. 

"Surely, lady,” said Janet, gazing with admira- 
tion at the neck-string of pearls, “ the daughters of 
Tyre wore no fairer neck-jewels than these Arid 
then the posy, ‘ For a neck that is fairer/ — each 
pearl is worth a freehold.” 

“ Each word in this dear paper is worth the whole 
string, my girl — But come to my tiring-room, girl ; 
we must be brave, my lord comes thither to-night. 

— He bids me grace you, Master Varney, and to me 
his wish is a law. — I bid you to a collation in my 
bower this afternoon, and you, too, Master Foster. 
Give orders that all is fitting, and that suitable 
preparations be made for my lord’s reception to- 
night.” With these words she left the apartment. 

“She takes state on her already,” said Varney, 
“and distributes the favour of her presence, as if 
she were already the partner of his dignity. — Well 

— it is wise to practise beforehand the part which 
fortune prepares us to play — the young eagle must 
gaze at the sun, ere he soars on strong wing to 
meet it.” 

“ If holding her head aloft,” said Foster, “ will 
keep her eyes from dazzling, I warrant you the 
dame will not stoop her crest. She will presently 
soar beyond reach of my whistle, Master Varney. I 
promise you, she holds me already in slight regard.” 

“ It is thine own fault, thou sullen uninventive 
companion,” answered Varney, “ who know’st no 
mode of control, save downright brute force. — • 
Canst thou not make home pleasant to her, with 


KENILWORTH. 


*5 

music and toys ? Canst thou not make the out-of- 
doors frightful to her, with tales of goblins ? — Thou 
livest here by the churchyard, and hast not even 
wit enough to raise a ghost, to scare thy females 
into good discipline.” 

“Speak not thus, Master Varney,” said Foster; 
“ the living I fear not, but I trifle not nor toy with 
my dead neighbours of the churchyard. I promise 
you, it requires a good heart to live so near it : 
worthy Master Holdforth, the afternoon’s lecturer 
of Saint Antonlin’s, had a sore fright there the last 
time he came to visit me.” 

“ Hold thy superstitious tongue,” answered Var- 
ney ; “ and while thou talk’st of visiting, answer 
me, thou paltering knave, how came Tressilian to 
be at the postern-door ? ” 

“ Tressilian ! ” answered Foster, “what know I of 
Tressilian ? — I never heard his name.” 

“ Why, villain, it was the very Cornish chough, 
to whom old Sir Hugh Robsart destined his pretty 
Amy, and hither the hot-brained fool has come to 
look after his fair runaway: there must be some 
order taken with him, for he thinks he hath wrong, 
and is not the mean hind that will sit down with it. 
Luckily he knows nought of my lord, but thinks he 
has only me to deal with. But how, in the fiend’s 
name, came he hither ? ” 

“ Why, with Mike Lambourne, an you must 
know,” answered Foster. 

“And who is Mike Lambourne?” demanded 
Varney. “ By Heaven ! thou wert best set up a 
bush over thy door, and invite every stroller who 
passes by, to see what thou shouldst keep secret 
even from the sun and air.” 

“ Ay ! ay ! this is a courtlike requital of my 


66 


KENILWORTH. 


service to you, Master Richard Varney replied 
Foster. “ Didst thou not charge me to seek out for 
thee a fellow who had a good sword, and an unscru- 
pulous conscience ? and was I not busying myself 
to find a fit man — for, thank Heaven, my acquaint- 
ance lies not amongst such companions — when, as 
Heaven would have it, this tall fellow, who is in all 
his qualities the very flashing knave thou didst wish, 
cam$ hither to fix acquaintance upon me in the pleni- 
tude of his impudence, and I admitted his claim, think- 
ing to do you a pleasure — and now see what thanks 
T get for disgracing myself by converse with him ! ” 

“And did he,” said Varney, “being such a fel- 
low as thyself, only lacking, I suppose, thy present 
humour of hypocrisy, which lies as thin over thy 
hard ruffianly heart as gold lacquer upon rusty iron 
— did he, I say, bring the saintly, sighing Tressilian 
in his train ? ” 

“ They came together, by Heaven ! ” said Fos- 
ter ; “ and Tressilian — to speak Heaven’s truth — 
obtained a moment’s interview with our pretty mop- 
pet, while I was talking apart with Lambourne.” 

“ Improvident villain ! we are both undone,” said 
Varney. “She has of late been casting many a 
backward look to her father’s halls, whenever her 
lordly lover leaves her alone. Should this preaching 
fool whistle her back to her old perch, we were but 
lost men.” 

“ No fear of that, my master,” replied Anthony 
Foster; “she is in no mood to stoop to his lure, 
for she yelled out on seeing him as if an adder had 
stung her.” 

“ That is good. — Canst thou not get from thy 
daughter an inkling of what passed between them* 
good Foster ? ” 


KENILWORTH. 


67 


“ I tell you plain, Master Varney,” said Foster, 
* my daughter shall not enter our purposes, or walk 
in our paths. They may suit me well enough, who 
know how to repent of my misdoings ; but I will 
not have my child’s soul committed to peril either 
for your pleasure or my lord's. I may walk among 
snares and pitfalls myself, because I have discretion, 
but I will not trust the poor lamb among them.” 

“ Why, thou suspicious fool, I were as averse as 
thou art that thy baby-faced girl should enter into 
my plans, or walk to hell at her father’s elbow. But 
indirectly thou mightst gain some intelligence of 
her ? ” 

“And so I did, Master Varney,” answered Fos- 
ter; “and she said her lady called out upon the 
sickness of her father.” 

“ Good ! ” replied Varney ; “ that is a hint worth 
catching, and I will work upon it. But the country 
must be rid of this Tressilian — I would have cum- 
bered no man about the matter, for I hate him like 
strong poison — his presence is hemlock to me — and 
this day I had been rid of him, but that my foot 
slipped, when, to speak truth, had not thy comrade 
yonder come to my aid, and held his hand, I should 
have known by this time whether you and I have 
been treading the path to heaven or hell.” 

“ And you can speak thus of such a risk ! ” said 
Foster ; “You keep a stout heart, Master Varney 
— for me, if I did not hope to live many years, and 
to have time for the great work of repentance, I 
would not go forward with you.” 

“ 0 ! thou shalt live as long as Methuselah,” said 
Varney, “ and amass as much wealth as Solomon ; 
and thou shalt repent so devoutly, that thy repent- 
ance shall be more famous than thy villainy, — and 


6$ 


KENILWORTH. 


that is a bold word. But for all this, Tressilian 
must be looked after. Thy ruffian yonder is gone to 
dog him. It concerns our fortunes, Anthony.” 

“Ay, ay,” said Foster, sullenly, “ this it is to be 
leagued with one who knows not even so much of 
Scripture, as that the labourer is worthy of his hire. 
I must, as usual, take all the trouble and risk.” 

“ Risk ! and what is the mighty risk, I pray you ? ” 
answered Varney. “ This fellow will come prowl- 
ing again about your demesne or into your house, 
and if you take him for a house-breaker or a park- 
breaker, is it not most natural you should welcome 
him with cold steel or hot lead? Even a mastiff 
will pull down those who come near his kennel; 
and who shall blame him ? ” 

“ Ay, I have a mastiff’s work and a mastiff’s wage 
among you,” said Foster. “Here have you, Master 
Varney, secured a good freehold estate out of this 
old superstitious foundation ; and I have but a poor 
lease of this mansion under you, voidable at your 
honour’s pleasure.” 

“Ay, and thou wouldst fain convert thy lease- 
hold into a copyhold — the thing may chance to 
happen, Anthony Foster, if thou dost good service 
for it. — But softly, good Anthony-— it is not the 
lending a room or two of this old house for keeping 
my lord’s pretty paroquet — nay, it is not the shut- 
ting thy doors and windows to keep her from flying 
off, that may deserve it. Remember, the manor and 
tithes are rated at the clear annual value of seventy- 
nine pounds five shillings and fivepence halfpenny, 
besides the value of the wood. Come, come, thou 
must be conscionable ; great and secret service may 
deserve both this and a better thing. — And now let 
thy knave come and pluck off my boots. — Get us 


KENILWORTH. 


69 


some dinner, and a cup of thy best wine. — I must 
visit this mavis, brave in apparel, unruffled in as- 
pect, and gay in temper.” 

They parted, and at the hour of noon, which was 
then that of dinner, they again met at their 
meal, Varney gaily dressed like a courtier of the 
time, and even Anthony Foster improved in ap- 
pearance, as far as dress could amend an exterior so 
unfavourable. 

This alteration did not escape Varney. When 
the meal was finished, the cloth removed, and they 
were left to their private discourse — “ Thou art gay 
as a goldfinch, Anthony,” said Varney, looking at 
his host ; “ methinks, thou wilt whistle a jig anon 
— but I crave your pardon, that would secure your 
ejection from the congregation of the zealous 
botchers, the pure-hearted weavers, and the sanc- 
tified bakers of Abingdon, who let their ovens cool 
while their brains get heated.” 

“To answer you in the spirit, Master Varney/’ 
said Foster, “ were — excuse the parable — to fling 
sacred and precious things before swine. So I will 
speak to thee in the language of the world, which 
he, who is King of the World, hath taught thee to 
understand, and to profit by in no common measure.” 

“Say what thou wilt, honest Tony,” replied Var- 
ney ; “ for be it according to thine absurd faith, or 
according to thy most villainous practice, it cannot 
choose but be rare matter to qualify this cup of Ali- 
cant. Thy conversation is relishing and poignant, 
and beats caviare, dried neat’s-tongue, and all other 
provocatives that give savour to good liquor.” 

“ Well, then, tell me,” said Anthony Foster, “ is 
not our good lord and master’s turn better served, 
and his antechamber more suitably filled, with 


70 


KENILWORTH. 


decent, God-fearing men, who will work his will 
and their own profit quietly, and without worldly 
scandal, than that he should he manned, and at- 
tended, and followed by such open debauchers and 
ruffianly swordsmen as Tidesly, Killigrew, this fellow 
Lambourne, whom you have put me to Seek out for 
you, and other such, who bear the gallows in their 
face and murder in their right hand — who are a 
terror to peaceable men, and a scandal to my lord’s 
service ? ” 

“ Oh, content you, good Master Anthony Foster,” 
answered Varney ; “he that flies at all manner of 
game must keep all kinds of hawks, both short and 
long-winged. The course my lord holds is no easy 
one, and he must stand provided at all points with 
trusty retainers to meet each sort of service. He 
must have his gay courtier, like myself, to ruffle it 
in the presence-chamber, and to lay hand on hilt 
when any speaks in disparagement of my lord’s 
honour ” — 

“Ay,” said Foster, “and to whisper a word for 
him into a fair lady’s ear, when he may not approach 
her himself.” 

“Then,” said Varney, going on without appear- 
ing to notice the interruption, “ he must have his 
lawyers — deep subtle pioneers — to draw his con- 
tracts, his pre-contracts, and his post-contracts, and 
to find the way to make the most of grants of church- 
lands, and commons, and licenses for monopoly — 
And he must have physicians who can spice a cup 
or a caudle — And he must have his cabalists, like 
Dee and Allan, (m) for conjuring up the devil — And he 
must have ruffling swordsmen, who would fight the 
devil when he is raised and at the wildest — And 
above all, without prejudice to others, he must have 


KENILWORTH. 


71 


such godly, innocent, puritanic souls as thou, honest 
Anthony, who defy Satan, and do his work at the 
same time.” 

“ You would not say, Master Varney,” said Fos- 
ter, “ that our good lord and master, whom I hold 
to be fulfilled in all nobleness, would use such base 
and sinful means to rise, as thy speech points at ? ” 

“Tush, man,” said Varney, “never look at me 
with so sad a brow — you trap me not — nor am I in 
your power, as your weak brain may imagine, be- 
cause I name to you freely the engines, the springs, 
the screws, the tackle, and braces, by which great 
men rise in stirring times. — Sayest thou our good 
lord is fulfilled of all nobleness ? — Amen, and so 
be it — he has the more need to have those about 
him who are unscrupulous in his service, and who, 
because they know that his fall will overwhelm and 
crush them, must wager both blood and brain, soul 
and body, in order to keep him aloft ; and this I 
tell thee, because I care not who knows it.” 

“You speak truth, Master Varney,” said Anthony 
Foster ; “ he that is head of a party, is but a boat 
on a wave, that raises not itself, but is moved 
upward by the billow which it floats upon.” 

“ Thou art metaphorical, honest Anthony,” replied 
Varney; “ that velvet doublet hath made an oracle 
of thee — we will have thee to Oxford to take the 
degrees in the arts. — And, in the meantime, hast 
thou arranged all the matters which were sent from 
London, and put the western chambers into such 
fashion as may answer my lord’s humour ? ” 

“ They may serve a king on his bridal-day,” said 
Anthony ; “ and I promise you that Dame Amy sits 
in them yonder, as proud and gay as if she were the 
Queen of Sheba.” - 


72 


KENILWORTH. 


“Tis the better, good Anthony,” answered Var- 
ney; “we must found our future fortunes on her 
good liking.” 

“We build on sand then,” said Anthony Foster; 
“ for supposing that she sails away to court in all 
her lord’s dignity and authority, how is she to look 
back upon me, who am her jailor as it were, to de- 
tain her here against her will, keeping her a cater- 
pillar on an old wall, when she would fain be a 
painted butterfly in a court garden ? ” 

“Fear not her displeasure, man,” said Varney. 
“I will show her that all thou hast done in this 
matter was good service, both to my lord and her ; 
and when she chips the egg-shell and walks alone, 
she shall own we have hatched her greatness.” 

“Look to yourself, Master Varney,” said Foster, 
“ you may misreckon foully in this matter — She 
gave you but a frosty reception this morning, and, 
I think, looks on you, as well as me, with an evil 
eye.” 

“You mistake her, Foster — you mistake her 
utterly — To me she is bound by all the ties which 
can secure her to one who has been the means of 
gratifying both her love and ambition. Who was 
it that took the obscure Amy Robsart, the daughtei 
of an impoverished and dotard knight — the destined 
bride of a moon-struck, moping enthusiast, like Ed- 
mund Tressilian, from her lowly fates, and held out 
to her in prospect, the brightest fortune in England, 
or perchance in Europe ? Why, man, it was I — 
as I have often told thee — that found opportunity 
for their secret meetings — It was I who watched 
the wood while he beat for the deer — It was I who, 
to this day, am blamed by her family as the com- 
panion of her flight, and were I in their neighbour 


KENILWORTH. 


n 

hood, would be fain to wear a shirt of better stuff 
than Holland linen, lest my ribs should be acquainted 
with Spanish steel. Who carried their letters ? — I 
Who amused the old knight and Tressilian ? — I. 
Who planned her escape? — it was I. It was I, in 
short, Dick Varney, who pulled this pretty little 
daisy from its lowly nook, and placed it in the 
proudest bonnet in Britain.” 

“Ay, Master Varney,” said Foster, “but it may 
be she thinks, that had the matter remained with 
you, the flower had been stuck so slightly into 
the cap, that the first breath of a changeable 
breeze of passion had blown the poor daisy to the 
common.” 

“She should consider,” said Varney, smiling, “the 
true faith I owed my lord and master prevented me 
at first from counselling marriage — and yet I did 
counsel marriage when I saw she would not be sat- 
isfied without the — the sacrament, or the ceremony 
— which callest thou it, Anthony ? ” 

“Still she has you at feud on another score,” 
said Foster; “and I tell it you that you may 
look to yourself in time — She would not hide 
her splendour in this dark lantern of an old mon- 
astic house, but would fain shine a countess amongst 
countesses.” 

“Very natural, very right,” answered Varney ; 
“ but what have I to do with that ? — she may shine 
through horn or through crystal at my lord’s pleas- 
ure, I have nought to say against it.” 

“ She deems that you have an oar upon that side of 
the boat, Master Varney,” replied Foster, “ and that 
you can pull it or no, at your good pleasure. In a 
word, she ascribes the secrecy and obscurity in which 
she is kept, to your secret counsel to my lord, and 


74 


KENILWORTH. 


to my strict agency ; and so she loves us "both as a 
sentenced man loves his judge and his jailor.” 

“ She must love us better ere she leave this place, 
Anthony,” answered Varney. “ If I have counselled 
for weighty reasons that she remain here for a season, 
I can also advise her being brought forth in the full 
blow of her dignity. But I were mad to do so, hold- 
ing so near a place to my lord’s person, were she 
mine enemy. Bear this truth in upon her as occa- 
sion offers, Anthony, and let me alone for extolling 
you in her ear, and exalting you in her opinion — 
Ka me, ha thee — it is a proverb all over the world 

— The lady must know her friends, and be made to 
judge of the power they have of being her enemies 

— meanwhile, watch her strictly, but with all the 
outward observance that thy rough nature will per- 
mit. ’Tis an excellent thing that sullen look and 
bull-dog humour of thine ; thou shouldst thank 
God for it, and so should my lord ; for when there 
is aught harsh or hard-natured to be done, thou 
dost it as if it flowed from thine own natural dogged- 
ness, and not from orders, and so my lord escapes 
the scandal. — But, hark — some one knocks at the 
gate — Look out at the window — let no one enter 

— this were an ill night to be interrupted.” 

“ It is he whom we spoke of before dinner,” said 
Foster, as he looked through the casement ; “ it is 
Michael Lambourne.” 

“ Oh, admit him, by all means,” said the courtier, 
“ he comes to give some account of his guest — it 
imports us much to know the movements of Edmund 
Tressilian — - Admit him, I say, but bring him not 
hither — I will come to you presently in the Abbot’s 
library.” 

Foster left the room, and the courtier, who re- 


KENILWORTH. 


75 


mained behind, paced the parlour more than once 
in deep thought, his arms folded on his bosom, until 
at length he gave vent to his meditations in broken 
words, which we have somewhat enlarged and con- 
nected, that his soliloquy may be intelligible to the 
reader. 

“ ’ Tis true,” he said, suddenly stopping, and rest- 
ing his right hand on the table at which they had 
been sitting, “this base churl hath fathomed the 
very depth of my fear, and I have been unable to 
disguise it from him. — She loves me not — I would 
it were as true that I loved not her ! — Idiot that I 
was, to move her in my own behalf, when wisdom 
bade me be a true broker to my lord ! — And this 
fatal error has placed me more at her discretion than 
a wise man would willingly be at that of the best 
piece of painted Eve’s flesh of them all. Since the 
hour that my policy made so perilous a slip, I can- 
not look at her without fear, and hate, and fondness, 
so strangely mingled, that I know not whether, were 
it at my choice, I would rather possess or ruin her. 
But she must not leave this retreat until I am as- 
sured on what terms we are to stand. My lord’s 
interest — and so far it is mine own — for if he 
sinks, I fall in his train — demands concealment of 
this obscure marriage — and besides I will not lend 
her my arm to climb to her chair of state, that she 
may set her foot on my neck when she is fairly 
seated. I must work an interest in her, either 
through love or through fear — and who knows but 
I may yet reap the sweetest and best revenge for 
her former scorn ? — that were indeed a masterpiece 
of courtlike art ! — Let me but once be her counsel- 
keeper — let her confide to me a secret, did it but 
concern the robbery of a linnet’s nest, and, fair 


y6 


KENILWORTH. 


Countess, thou art mine own ! ” He again paced the 
room in silence, stopped, filled, and drank a cup of 
wine, as if to compose the agitation of his mind ; 
and muttering, “ Now for a close heart, and an open 
and unruffled brow,” he left the apartment. 


CHAPTER VI. 


The dews of summer night did fall, 

The moon, sweet regent of the sky. 

Silver’d the walls of Cumnor Hall, 

And many an oak that grew thereby. 1 

Mickle. 

Four apartments, which occupied the western side 
of the old quadrangle at Cumnor-Place, had been 
fitted up with extraordinary splendour. This had 
been the work of several days prior to that on which 
our story opened. Workmen sent from London, and 
not permitted to leave the premises until the work 
was finished, had converted the apartments in that 
side of the building, from the dilapidated appearance 
of a dissolved monastic house, into the semblance of 
a royal palace. A mystery was observed in all these 
arrangements : the workmen came thither and re- 
turned by night, and all measures were taken to 
prevent the prying curiosity of the villagers from 
observing or speculating upon the changes which 
were taking place in the mansion of their once in- 
digent, but now wealthy neighbour, Anthony Foster. 
Accordingly, the secrecy desired was so far preserved, 
that nothing got abroad but vague and uncertain 
reports, which were received and repeated, but with- 
out much credit being attached to them. 

On the evening of which we treat, the new and 
highly decorated suite of rooms were, for the first 
time, illuminated, and that with a brilliancy which 

1 This verse is the commencement of the ballad already quoted, 
as what suggested the novel. 


7 « 


KENILWORTH. 


might have been visible half-a-dozen miles off, had 
not oaken shutters, carefully secured with bolt and 
padlock, and mantled with long curtains of silk and 
of velvet, deeply fringed with gold, prevented the 
slightest gleam of radiance from being seen without. 

The principal apartments, as we have seen, were 
four in number, each opening into the other. Access 
was given to them by a large scale staircase, as they 
were then called, of unusual length and height, which 
had its landing-place at the door of an antechamber, 
shaped somewhat like a gallery. This apartment 
the Abbot had used as an occasional council-room, 
but it was now beautifully wainscoted with dark 
foreign wood of a brown colour, and bearing a high 
polish, said to have been brought from the Western 
Indies, and to have been wrought in London with 
infinite difficulty, and much damage to the tools of 
the workmen. The dark colour of this finishing was 
relieved by the number of lights in silver sconces, 
which hung against the walls, and by six large and 
richly-framed pictures, by the first masters of the 
age. A massy oaken table, placed at the lower end 
of the apartment, served to accommodate such as 
chose to play at the then fashionable game of shovel- 
board ; and there was at the other end, an elevated 
gallery for the musicians or minstrels, who might be 
summoned to increase the festivity of the evening. 

From this antechamber opened a banqueting room 
of moderate size, but brilliant enough to dazzle the 
eyes of the spectator with the richness of its furni- 
ture. The walls, lately so bare and ghastly, were 
now clothed with hangings of sky-blue velvet and 
silver ; the chairs were of ebony, richly carved, with 
cushions corresponding to the hangings ; and the 
place of the silver sconces which enlightened the 


KENILWORTH. 


79 


antechamber, was supplied by a huge chandelier of 
the same precious metal. The floor was covered 
with a Spanish foot-cloth, or carpet, on which flowers 
and fruits were represented in such glowing and 
natural colours, that you hesitated to place the foot 
on such exquisite workmanship. The table, of old 
English oak, stood ready covered with the finest 
linen, and a large portable court-cupboard was placed 
with the leaves of its embossed folding-doors dis- 
played, showing the shelves within, decorated with 
a full display of plate and porcelain. In the midst 
of the table stood a saltcellar of Italian workman- 
ship — a beautiful and splendid piece of plate about 
two feet high, moulded into a representation of 
the giant Briareus, whose hundred hands of silver 
presented to the guest various sorts of spices, or 
condiments, to season their food withal. 

The third apartment was called the withdrawing- 
room. It was hung with the finest tapestry, repre- 
senting the fall of Phaeton ; for the looms of 
Flanders were now much occupied on classical sub- 
jects. The principal seat of this apartment was 
a chair of state, raised a step or two from the floor, 
and large enough to contain two persons. It was 
surmounted by a canopy, which, as well as the 
cushions, side-curtains, and the very foot-cloth, was 
composed of crimson velvet, embroidered with seed- 
pearl. On the top of the canopy were two coro- 
nets, resembling those of an earl and countess. 
Stools covered with velvet, and some cushions dis- 
posed in the Moorish fashion, and ornamented with 
Arabesque needle-work, supplied the place of chairs 
in this apartment, which contained musical instru- 
ments, embroidery frames, and other articles for 
ladies’ pastime. Besides lesser lights, the withdraw- 


8o 


KENILWORTH. 


ing-room was illuminated by four tall torches of vir- 
gin wax, each of which was placed in the grasp of a 
statue, representing an armed Moor, who held in his 
left arm a round buckler of silver, highly polished, 
interposed betwixt his breast and the light, which 
was thus brilliantly reflected as from a crystal mirror. 

The sleeping chamber belonging to this splendid 
suite of apartments, was decorated in a taste less 
showy, but not less rich; than had be&n displayed 
in the others. Two silver lamps, fed with perfumed 
oil, diffused at once a delicious odour and a trem- 
bling twilight-seeming shimmer through the quiet 
apartment. It was carpeted so thick, that the hea- 
viest step could not have been heard, and the bed, 
richly heaped with down, was spread with an ample 
coverlet of silk and gold ; from under which peeped 
forth cambric sheets, and blankets as white as 
the lambs which yielded the fleece that made them. 
The curtains were of blue velvet, lined with crim- 
son silk, deeply festooned with gold, and embroi- 
dered with the loves of Cupid and Psyche. On the 
toilet w§s a beautiful Venetian mirror, in a frame 
of silver filigree, and beside it stood a gold posset- 
dish to contain the night-draught. A pair of 
pistols and a dagger, mounted with gold, were dis- 
played near the head of the bed, being the arms for 
the night, which were presented to honoured guests, 
rather, it may be supposed, in the way of ceremony, 
than from any apprehension of danger. We must 
not omit to mention, what was more to the credit 
of the manners of the time, that in a small recess, 
illuminated by a taper, were disposed two hassocks of 
velvet and gold, corresponding with the bed furni- 
ture, before a desk of carved, ebony. This recess 
had formerly been the private oratory of the Abbot 


KENILWORTH. 


81 


but the crucifix was removed, and instead, there 
were placed on the desk two Books of Common 
Prayer, richly bound, and embossed with silver. 
With this enviable sleeping apartment, which was 
so far removed from every sound, save that of the 
wind sighing among the oaks of the park, that Mor- 
pheus might have coveted it for his own proper 
repose, corresponded two wardrobes, or dressing- 
rooms as they are now termed, suitably furnished, 
and in a style of the same magnificence which we 
have already described. It ought to be added, that 
a part of the building in the adjoining wing was 
occupied by the kitchen and its offices, and served 
to accommodate the personal attendants of the great 
and wealthy nobleman, for whose use these magni- 
ficent preparations had been made. 

The divinity for whose sake this temple had been 
decorated, was well worthy the cost and pains which 
had been bestowed. She was seated in the with- 
drawn! g-room which we have described, surveying 
with the pleased eye of natural and innocent vanity, 
the splendour which had been so suddenly created, 
as it were in her honour. For, as her own resi- 
dence at Cumnor-Place formed the cause of the 
mystery observed in all the preparations for open- 
ing these apartments, it was sedulously arranged, 
that, until she took possession of them, she should 
have no means of knowing what was going forward 
in that part of the ancient building, or of exposing 
herself to be seen by the workmen engaged in the 
decorations. She had been, therefore, introduced 
on that evening to a part of the mansion which she 
had never yet seen, so different from all the rest, 
that it appeared, in comparison, like an enchanted 
palace. And when she first examined and occupied 


82 


KENILWORTH. 


these splendid rooms, it was with the wild and 
unrestrained joy of a rustic beauty, who finds herself 
suddenly invested with a splendour which her most 
extravagant wishes had never imagined, and at the 
same time with the keen feeling of an affectionate 
heart, which knows that all the enchantment that sur- 
rounds her, is the work of the great magician Love. 

The Countess Amy, therefore, — for to that rank 
she was exalted by her private but solemn union 
with England’s proudest Earl, — had for a time 
flitted hastily from room to room, admiring each new 
proof of her lover and her bridegroom’s taste, and 
feeling that admiration enhanced, as she recollected 
that all she gazed upon was one continued proof 
of his ardent and devoted affection. — “ How beau- 
tiful are these hangings ! — How natural these paint- 
ings, which seem to contend with life ! — How richly 
wrought is that plate, which looks as if all the 
galleons of Spain had been intercepted on the broad 
seas to furnish it forth! — And oh, Janet! ’’she 
exclaimed repeatedly to the daughter of Anthony 
Foster, the close attendant, who with equal curios- 
ity, but somewhat less ecstatic joy, followed on her 
mistress’s footsteps — “ 0, Janet ! how much more 
delightful to think, that all these fair things have 
been assembled by his love, for the love of me ! and 
that this evening — this very evening, which grows 
darker every instant, I shall thank him more for 
the love that has created such an unimaginable 
paradise, than for all the wonders it contains.” 

“ The Lord is to be thanked first,” said the pretty 
puritan, “ who gave thee, lady, the kind and cour- 
teous husband, whose love has done so much for 
thee. I, too, have done my poor share. But if you 
thus run wildly from room to room, the toil of my 


KENILWORTH. 83 

crisping and my curling pins will vanish like the 
frost-work on the window when the sun is high.” 

“ Thou sayest true, Janet,” said the young and 
beautiful Countess, stopping suddenly from her 
tripping race of enraptured delight, and looking at 
herself from head to foot in a large mirror, such as 
she had never before seen, and which, indeed, had few 
to match it even in the Queen’s palace — “ Thou 
sayest true, Janet!” she answered, as she saw, with 
pardonable self-applause, the noble mirror reflect 
such charms as were seldom presented to its fair 
and polished surface ; “ I have more of the milk- 
maid than the countess, with these cheeks flushed 
with haste, and all these brown curls, which you 
laboured to bring to order, straying as wild as the 
tendrils of an unpruned vine — My falling ruff is 
chafed too, and shows the neck and bosom more 
than is modest and seemly — Come, Janet- — we will 
practise state — we will go to the withdrawing-room, 
my good girl, and thou shalt put these rebel locks 
in order, and imprison within lace and cambric the 
bosom that beats too high.” 

They went to the withdrawing apartment accord- 
ingly, where the Countess playfully stretched her- 
self upon the pile of Moorish cushions, half sitting, 
half reclining, half wrapt in her own thoughts, half 
listening to the prattle of her attendant. 

While she was in this attitude, and with a cor- 
responding expression betwixt listlessness and ex- 
pectation on her fine and intelligent features, you 
might have searched sea and land without finding 
any thing half so expressive or half so lovely. The 
wreath of brilliants which mixed with her dark 
brown hair, did not match in lustre the hazel ey§ 
which a light brown eyebrow, pencilled with exqui: 


KENILWORTH. 


site delicacy, and long eyelashes of the same colour 
relieved and shaded. The exercise she had just 
taken, her excited expectation and gratified vanity, 
spread a glow over her fine features, which had been 
sometimes censured (as beauty as well as art has 
her minute critics) for being rather too pale. The 
milk-white pearls of the ^necklace which she wore, 
the same which she had just received as a true-love 
token from her husband, were excelled in purity by 
her teeth, and by the colour of her skin, saving 
where the blush of pleasure and self-satisfaction had 
somewhat stained the neck with a shade of light 
crimson. — “ Now, have done with these busy fingers, 
Janet,” she said to her handmaiden, who was still 
officiously employed in bringing her hair and her 
dress into order — “ Have done, I say — I must see 
your father ere my lord arrives, and also Master 
Richard Varney, whom my lord has highly in his 
esteem — but I could tell that of him would lose 
him favour.” 

“ 0 do not do so, good my lady ! ” replied Janet ; 
leave him to God, who punishes the wicked in his 
own time; but do not you cross Varney’s path, for 
so thoroughly hath he my lord’s ear, that few have 
thriven who have thwarted his courses.” 

“ And from whom had you this, my most right- 
eous Janet ? ’ said the Countess; “ or why should 
I keep terms with so mean a gentleman as Varney, 
being, as I am, wife to his master and patron ? ” 

“ Nay, madam,” replied Janet Foster, “ your lady- 
ship knows better than I — • But I have heard my 
father say, he would rather cross a hungry wolf, 
than thwart Richard Varney in his projects — And 
he has often charged me to have a care of holding 
commerce with him.” 


KENILWORTH. 


$S 

“Thy father said well, girl, for thee,” replied the 
lady, “ and I dare swear meant well. It is a pity, 
though, his face and manner do little match his true 
purpose — for I think his purpose may be true.” 

“ Doubt it not, my lady,” answered Janet, — 
“ Doubt not that my father purposes well, though 
he is a plain man, and his blunt looks may belie his 
heart.” 

“ I will not doubt it, girl, were it only for thy 
sake ; and yet he has one of those faces which 
men tremble when they look on — I think even 
thy mother, Janet — nay, have done with that 
poking-iron — could hardly look upon him without 
quaking.” 

“If it were so, madam,” answered Janet Foster, 
“ my mother had those who could keep her in hon- 
ourable countenance. Why, even you, my lady, 
both trembled and blushed when Varney brought 
the letter from my lord.” 

“ You are bold, damsel,” said the Countess, rising 
from the cushions on which she sate half reclined 
in the arms of her attendant — “ Know, that there 
are causes of trembling which have nothing to do 
with fear. — But, Janet,” she added, immediately 
relapsing into the good-natured and familiar tone 
which was natural to her, “ believe me I will do 
what credit I can to your father, and the rather that 
you, sweetheart, are his' child. — Alas! alas!” she 
added, a sudden sadness passing over her fine fea- 
tures, and her eyes filling with tears, “ I ought the 
rather to hold sympathy with thy kind heart, that 
my own poor father is uncertain of my fate, and they 
say lies sick and sorrowful for my worthless sake ! — ■ 
But I will soon cheer him — the news of my happi- 
ness and advancement will make him young again. 


36 


KENILWORTH. 


— And that I may cheer him the sooner,” — she 
wiped her eyes as she spoke — “I must be cheerful 
myself — My lord must not find me insensible to 
his kindness, or sorrowful when he snatches a visit 
to his recluse, after so long an absence. — Be merry, 
Janet — the night wears on, and my lord must soon 
arrive. — Call thy father hither, and call Varney 
also — I cherish resentment against neither ; and 
though I may have some room to be displeased with 
both, it shall be their own fault if ever a complaint 
against them reaches the Earl through my means. 

— Call them hither, Janet.” 

Janet Foster obeyed her mistress; and in a few 
minutes after, Varney entered the withdrawing- 
room with the graceful ease and unclouded front 
of an accomplished courtier, skilled, under the veil 
of external politeness, to disguise his own feelings, 
and to penetrate those of others. Anthony Foster 
plodded into the apartment after him, his natural 
gloomy vulgarity of aspect seeming to become yet 
more remarkable, from his clumsy attempt to con- 
ceal the mixture of anxiety and dislike with which 
he looked on her, over whom he had hitherto exer- 
cised so severe a control, now so splendidly attired, 
and decked with so many pledges of the interest 
which she possessed in her husband’s affections. 
The blundering reverence which he made, rather 
at than to the Countess, had confession in it — It 
was like the reverence which the criminal makes 
to the judge, when he at once owns his guilt and 
implores mercy, — which is at the same time an im- 
pudent and embarrassed attempt at defence or ex- 
tenuation, a confession of a fault, and an entreaty 
for lenity. 

Varney, who, in right of his gentle blood, had 


KENILWORTH. 


«7 


pressed into the room before Anthony Foster, knew 
better what to say than he, and said it with more 
assurance and a better grace. 

The Countess greeted him indeed with an appear- 
ance of cordiality, which seemed a complete amnesty 
for whatever she might have to complain of. She 
rose from her seat, and advanced two steps towards 
him, holding forth her hand as she said, “ Master 
Richard Varney, you brought me this morning such 
welcome tidings, that I fear surprise and joy made 
me neglect my lord and husband’s charge to receive 
you with distinction. We offer you our hand, sir, in 
reconciliation.” 

“ I am unworthy to touch it,” said Varney, drop- 
ping on one knee, “ save as a subject honours that 
of a prince.” 

He touched with his lips those fair and slender 
fingers, so richly loaded with rings and jewels; then 
rising, with graceful gallantry, was about to Jiand 
her to the chair of state, when she said, “ No, good 
Master Richard Varney, I take not my place there 
until my lord himself conducts me. I am for the 
present but a disguised Countess, and will not take 
dignity on me until authorized by him whom I 
derive it from.” 

“ I trust, my lady,” said Foster, “ that in doing 
the commands of my lord your husband, in your 
restraint and so forth, I have not incurred your dis- 
pleasure, seeing that I did but my duty towards 
your lord and mine ; for Heaven, as holy writ saith, 
hath given the husband supremacy and dominion 
over the wife — I think it runs so, or something 
like it.” 

“ I receive at this moment so pleasant a surprise, 
Master Foster,” answered the Countess, “that I 


KENILWORTH. 


cannot but excuse the rigid fidelity which secluded 
me from these apartments, until they had assumed 
an appearance so new and so splendid.” 

“Ay, lady,” said Foster, “it hath cost many a 
fair crown ; and that more need not be wasted than 
is absolutely necessary, I leave you till my lord’s 
arrival with good Master Richard Varney, who, as 
I think, hath somewhat to say to you from your 
most noble lord and husband. — Janet, follow me, 
to see that all be in order.”^ 

“No, Master Foster,” said the Countess, “we will 
your daughter remains here in our apartment; out 
of ear-shot, however, in case Varney hath aught to 
say to me from my lord.” 

Foster made his clumsy reverence, and departed, 
with an aspect that seemed to grudge the profuse 
expense, which had been wasted upon changing his 
house from a bare and ruinous grange to an Asiatic 
palace. When he was gone, his daughter took her 
embroidery frame, and went to establish herself at 
the bottom of the apartment, while Richard Varney, 
with a profoundly humble courtesy, took the lowest 
stool he. Could find, and placing it by the side of the 
pile of cushions on which the Countess had now again 
seated herself, sat with his eyes for a time fixed on 
the ground, and in profound silence. 

“I thought, Master Varney,” said the Countess, 
when she saw he was not likely to open the conver- 
sation, “that you had something to communicate 
from my lord and husband ; so at least I understood 
Master Foster, and therefore I removed my waiting- 
maid. If I am mistaken, I will recall her to my 
side ; for her needle is not so absolutely perfect in 
tent and cross-stitch, but what my superintendence 
is advisable.” 


KENILWORTH. 


89 

“ Lady,’* said Varney, “ Foster was partly mistaken 
in my purpose. It was not from, but of your noble 
husband,* and my approved and most noble patron, 
that I am led, and indeed bound, to speak.” 

“ The theme is most "welcome, sir,” said the Count- 
ess, “ whether it be of or from my noble husband. 
But be brief, for I expect his hasty approach.” 

“ Briefly then, madam,” replied Varney, “and boldly,, 
for my argument requires both haste and courage — 
You have this day seen /Tressilian ?” 

“I have, sir, and what of that?” answered the 
lady somewhat sharply. 

“ Nothing that concerns me, lady,” Varney replied 
with humility. “ But, think you, honoured madam, 
that your lord will hear it with equal equanimity?” 

" And wherefore should he not ? — To me alone 
was Tressilian’s visit embarrassing and painful, for 
he brought news of my good father’s illness.” 

“ Of your father’s illness, madam ! ” answered Var- 
ney. “ It must have been sudden then — very sud- 
den ; for the messenger whom I dispatched, at my 
lord’s instance, found the good knight on the hunt- 
ing field, cheering his beagles with his wonted jovial 
field-cry. I trust, Tressilian has but forged this news 
— He hath his reasons, madam, as you well know, 
for disquieting your present happiness.” 

“You do him injustice, Master Varney,” replied 
the Countess, with animation, — “You do him much 
injustice. He is the freest, the most open, the 'most 
gentle heart that breathes. My honourable lord 
ever excepted, I know not one to whom falsehood 
is more odious than to Tressilian.” 

“I crave your pardon, madam,” said Varney, 
“I meant the gentleman no injustice — I knew not 
how nearly his cause affected you. A man may, 


90 


KENILWORTH. 


in some circumstances, disguise the truth for fair 
and honest purpose ; for were it to be always 
spoken, and upon all occasions, this were no world 
to live in.” 

“ You have a courtly conscience, Master Varney,” 
said the Countess, “ and your veracity will not, I 
think, interrupt your preferment in the world, such 
.as it is. — But touching Tressilian — I must do 
him justice, for I have done him wrong, as none 
knows better than thou. Tressilian’s conscience is 
of other mould — The world thou speakest of has 
not that which could bribe him from the way of 
truth and honour ; and for living in it with a soiled 
fame, the ermine would as soon seek to lodge in the 
den of the foul polecat. For this my father loved 
him — For this I would have loved him — if I could 
— And yet in this case he had what seemed to him, 
unknowing alike of my marriage, and to whom I 
was united, such powerful reasons to withdraw me 
from this place, that I well trust he exaggerated 
much of my father’s indisposition, and that thy bet- 
ter news may be the truer.” 

“Believe me they are, madam,” answered Var- 
ney ; “ I pretend not to be a champion of that same 
naked virtue called truth, to the very outrance. I 
can consent that her charms be hidden with a veil, 
were it but for decency’s sake. But you must 
think lower of my head and heart, than is due to 
one whom my noble lord deigns to call his friend, if 
you suppose I could wilfully and unnecessarily 
palm upon your ladyship a falsehood, so soon to 
be detected, in a matter which concerns your 
happiness.” 

“Master Varney,” said the Countess, “I know 
that my lord esteems you, and holds you a faithful 


KENILWORTH. 


9i 


and a good pilot in those seas in which he has 
spread so high and so venturous a sail. Do not 
suppose, therefore, I meant hardly by you, when I 
spoke the truth in Tressilian’s vindication — I am, 
.as you well know, country-bred, and like plain 
rustic truth better than courtly compliment; but 
I must change my fashions with my sphere, I 
presume.” 

“True, madam,” said Varney, smiling, “and 
though you speak now in jest, it will not be amiss 
that in earnest your present speech had some con- 
nexion with your real purpose. — A court-dame — 
take the most noble — the most virtuous — the most 
unimpeachable, that stands around our Queen's 
throne — would, for example, have shunned to speak 
the truth, or what she thought such, in praise of a 
discarded suitor, before the dependent and confidant 
of her noble husband.” 

“And wherefore,” said the Countess, colouring 
impatiently, “ should I not do justice to Tressilian’s 
worth, before my husband’s friend — before my 
husband himself — before the whole world ? ” 

“And with the same openness,” said Varney, 
“ your ladyship will this night tell my noble lord 
your husband, that Tressilian has discovered your 
place of residence, so anxiously concealed from the 
world, and that he has had an interview with 
you ? ” 

“ Unquestionably,” said the Countess. “ It will 
be the first thing I tell him, together with every 
word that Tressilian said, and that I answered. I 
shall speak my own shame in this, for Tressilian’s 
reproaches, less just than he esteemed them, were 
not altogether unmerited — I will speak, therefore, 
with pain, but I will speak, and speak all.” 


92 


KENILWORTH. 


“ Your ladyship will do your pleasure/’ answered 
Varney; “but me thinks it were as well, since 
nothing calls for so frank a disclosure, to spare your- 
self this pain, and my noble lord the disquiet, and 
Master Tressilian, since belike he must be thought 
of in the matter, the danger which is like to ensue.” 

“ I can see nought of all these terrible conse- 
quences,” said the lady, composedly, “unless by im- 
puting to my noble lord unworthy thoughts, which 
I am sure never harboured in his generous heart.” 

“Far be it from me to do so,” said Varney. — 
And then, after a moment’s silence, he added, with 
a real or affected plainness of manner, very different 
from his usual smooth courtesy — “ Come, madam, 
I will show you that a courtier dare speak truth as 
well as another, when it concerns the weal of those 
whom he honours and regards, ay, 'and although it 
may infer his own danger.” — He waited as if to 
receive commands, or at least permission, to go on, 
but as the lady remained silent, he proceeded, but 
obviously with caution. — “ Look around you,” he 
said, “ noble lady, and observe the barriers with 
which this place is surrounded, the studious mystery 
with which the brightest jewel that England pos- 
sesses is secluded from the admiring gaze. See 
with what rigour your walks are circumscribed, and 
your movements restrained at the beck of yonder 
churlish Foster. Consider all this, and judge for 
yourself what can be the cause.” 

“My lord’s pleasure,” answered the Countess; 
“ and I am bound to seek no other motive.” 

“His pleasure it is indeed,” said Varney; “and 
his pleasure arises out of a love worthy of the 
object which inspires it. But he who possesses 
a treasure, and who values it, is oft anxious, in 


KENILWORTH. 


93 

proportion to the value he puts upon it, to secure it 
from the depredations of others.” 

“What needs all this talk, Master Varney ?” said 
the lady, in reply ; “ you would have me believe 
that my noble lord is jealous — Suppose it true, I 
know a cure for jealousy.” 

“Indeed, madam!” said Varney. 

“ It is,” replied the lady, “ to speak the truth to 
my lord at all times; to hold up my mind and my 
thoughts before him as pure as that polished mirror ; 
so that when he looks into my heart, he shall only 
see his own features reflected there.” 

“I am mute, madam,” answered Varney; “and 
as I have no reason to grieve for Tressilian, who 
would have my heart’s blood were he able, I shall 
reconcile myself easily to what may befall the gen- 
tleman, in consequence of your frank disclosure of 
his having presumed to intrude upon your solitude. 
— You, who know my lord so much better than 
I, will judge, if he be likely to bear the insult 
unavenged.” 

“ Nay, if I could think myself the cause of Tres- 
silian’s ruin,” said the Countess, — “I who have 
already occasioned him so much distress, I might be 
brought to be silent. — And yet what will it avail, 
since he was seen by Foster, and I think by some 
one else ? — -No, no, Varney, urge it no more. I will 
tell the whole matter to my lord ; and with such 
pleading for Tressilian’s folly, as shall dispose my 
lord’s generous heart rather to serve than to punish 
him.” 

“Your judgment, madam,” said Varney, “is far 
superior to mine, especially as you may, if you will, 
prove the ice before you step on it, by mentioning 
Tressilian’s name to my lord, and observing how he 


94 


KENILWORTH. 


endures it. For Foster and his attendant, they 
know not Tressilian by sight, and I can easily give 
them some reasonable excuse for the appearance 
of an .unknown stranger.” 

The lady paused for an instant, and then replied, 
“If, Varney, it be indeed true that Foster knows 
not as yet that the man he saw was Tressilian, I 
own I were unwilling he should learn what nowise 
concerns him. He bears himself already with 
austerity enough, and I wish him not to be judge 
or privy-councillor in my affairs.” 

“ Tush,” said Varney “ what has the surly groom 
to do with your ladyship’s concerns? — No more, 
surely, than the ban-dog which watches his court- 
yard. If he is in aught distasteful to your ladyship, 
I have interest enough to have him exchanged for 
a seneschal that shall be more agreeable to you.” 

“ Master Varney,” said the Countess, “ let us 
drop this theme — when I complain of the attendants 
whom my lord has placed around me, it must be to 
my lord himself. — Hark ! I hear the trampling of 
horse — He comes ! he comes ! ” she exclaimed, jump- 
ing up in ecstasy. 

“ I cannot think it is he,” said Varney ; “ or that 
you can hear the tread of his horse through the 
closely mantled casements.” 

“Stop me not, Varney — my ears are keener than 
thine — it is he ! ” 

“But, madam! — but, madam!” exclaimed Var- 
ney, anxiously, and still placing himself in her way 
— “I trust that what I have spoken in humble duty 
and service, will not be turned to my ruin ? — I hope 
that my faithful advice will not be bewrayed to my 
prejudice ? — I implore that ” 

“ Content thee, man — content thee ! ” said the 


KENILWORTH. 95 

Countess, “ and quit my skirt — you are too bold to 
detain me — Content thyself, I think not of thee.” 

At this moment the folding-doors flew wide open, 
and a man of majestic mien, muffled in the folds of 
a long dark riding-cloak, entered the apartment. 


CHAPTER Vn. 


This is he 

Who rides on the court-gale ; controls its tides ; 
Knows all their secret shoals and fatal eddies ; 
Whose frown abases, and whose smile exalts. 

He shines like any rainbow — and, perchance, 

His colours are as transient. 

Old Play. 


There was some little displeasure and confusion on 
the Countess’s brow, owing to her struggle with 
Varney’s pertinacity ; but it was exchanged for an 
expression of the purest joy and affection, as. she 
threw herself into the arms of the noble stranger 
who entered, and clasping him to her bosom, 
exclaimed, “ At length — at length thou art come ! ” 
Varney discreetly withdrew as his lord entered, 
and Janet was about to do the same, when her mis- 
tress signed to her to remain. She took her place 
at the farther end of the apartment, and continued 
standing, as if ready for attendance. 

Meanwhile the Earl, for he was of no inferior 
rank, returned his lady’s caress with the most affec- 
tionate ardour, but affected to resist when she strove 
to take his cloak from him 

“Nay,” she said, “but I will unmantle you — I 
must see if you have kept your word to me, and 
come as the great Earl men call thee, and not as 
heretofore like a private cavalier.” 

“ Thou art like the rest of the world, Amy,” said 
the Earl, suffering her to prevail in the playful 


KENILWORTH. 


97 


contest; “the jewels, and feathers, and silk, are 
more to them than the man whom they adorn — 
many a poor blade looks gay in a velvet scabbard.” 

“ But so cannot men say of thee, thou noble Earl/' 
said his lady, as the cloak dropped on the floor, and 
showed him dressed as princes when they ride 
abroad ; “ thou art the good and well-tried steel, 
whose inly worth deserves, yet disdains, its outward 
ornaments. Do not think Amy can love thee better 
in this glorious garb, than she did when she gave 
her heart to him who wore the russet-brown cloak 
in the woods of Devon.” 

“ And thou too,” said the Earl, as gracefully and 
majestically he led his beautiful Countess towards 
the chair of state which was prepared for them both. 
— “ thou too, my love, hast donned a dress which 
becomes thy rank, though it cannot improve thy 
beauty. What think’st thou of our court taste ? ” 

The lady cast a sidelong glance upon the great 
mirror as they passed it by, and then said, “ I know 
not how it is, but I think not of my own person, 
while I look at the reflection of thine. Sit thou 
there,” she said, as they approached the chair of 
state, “ like a thing for men to worship and to 
wonder at.” 

“ Ay, love,” said the Earl, “ if thou wilt share 
my state with me.” 

“ Not so,” said the Countess ; “ I will sit on this 
footstool at thy feet, that I may spell over thy 
splendour, and learn, for the first time, how princes 
are attired.” 

And with a childish wonder, which her youth 
and rustic education rendered not only excusable 
but becoming, mixed as it was with a delicate show 
.of the most tender conjugal 'affection, she examined 


KENlLYVORTM. 


98 

and admired from head to foot the noble form and 
princely attire of him, who formed the proudest 
ornament of the court of England’s Maiden Queen, 
renowned as it was for splendid courtiers, as well 
as for wise counsellors. Regarding affectionately 
his lovely bride, and gratified by her unrepressed 
admiration, the dark eye and noble features of the 
Earl expressed passions more gentle than the com- 
manding and aspiring look which usually sate upon 
his broad forehead, and in the piercing brilliancy of 
his dark eye; and he smiled at the simplicity which 
dictated the questions she put to him concerning 
the various ornaments with which he was decorated. 

“ The embroidered strap, as thou callest it, around 
my knee,” he said, “ is the English Garter, an 
ornament which kings are proud to wear. See, 
here is the star which belongs to it, and here the 
Diamond George, the jewel of the order. You 
have heard how King Edward and the Countess of 
Salisbury ” 

“O, I know all that tale,” said the Countess, 
slightly blushing, “ and how a lady’s garter became 
the proudest badge of English chivalry.” 

“ Even so,” said the Earl; “and this most hon- 
ourable Order I had the good hap to receive at 
the same time with three most noble associates, the 
Duke of Norfolk, the Marquis of Northampton, 
and the Earl of Rutland. I was the lowest of the 
four in rank — but what then ? — he that climbs a 
ladder must begin at the first round.” 

“But this other fair collar, so richly wrought, 
with some jewel like a sheep hung by the middle 
attached to it, what,” said the young Countess, 
“ does that emblem signify ? ” 

“This collar,” said the Earl, “with its double 


KENILWORTH. 


99 


fusilles interchanged with these knobs, which are 
supposed to present flint-stones, sparkling with fire, 
and sustaining the jewel you enquire about, is the 
badge of the noble Order of the Golden Fleece, 
once appertaining to the House of Burgundy. It 
hath high privileges, my Amy, belonging to it, this 
most noble Order ; for even the king of Spain him- 
self, who hath now succeeded to the honours and 
demesnes of Burgundy, may not sit in judgment 
upon a knight of the Golden Fleece, unless by 
assistance and consent of the Great Chapter of the 
Order.” 

“ And is this an Order belonging to the cruel 
king of Spain ? ” said the Countess. “ Alas ! my 
noble lord, that you will defile your noble English 
breast by bearing such an emblem ! Bethink you 
of the most unhappy Queen Mary’s days, when this 
same Philip held sway with her in England, and of 
the piles which were built for our noblest, and our 
wisest, and our most truly sanctified prelates and 
divines — And will you, whom men call the stan- 
dard-bearer of the true Protestant faith, be contented 
to wear the emblem and mark of such a Romish 
tyrant as he of Spain ? ” 

“ O, content you, my love,” answered the Earl ; 
“ we who spread our sails to gales of court favour, 
cannot always display the ensigns we love the best, 
or at all times refuse sailing under colours which 
we like not. Believe me, I am not the less good 
Protestant, that for policy I must accept the honour 
offered me by Spain, in admitting me to this his 
highest order of knighthood. Besides, it belongs 
properly to Flanders ; and Egmont, Orange, and 
others, have pride in seeing it displayed on an 
English bosom.” 


too 


KENILWORTH. 


“ Nay, my lord, you know your own path best,* 
replied the Countess. — “ And this other collar, to 
what country does this fair jewel belong ? ” 

“ To a very poor one, my love,” replied the Earl ; 
“ this is the Order of Saint Andrew, revived by the 
last James of Scotland. It was bestowed on me 
when it was thought the young widow of France 
and Scotland (n) would gladly have wedded an Eng- 
lish baron ; but a free. coronet of England is worth a 
crown matrimonial held at the humour of a woman, 
and owning only the poor rocks and bogs of the 
north.” 

The Countess paused, as if what the Earl last 
said had excited some painful but interesting train 
of thought ; and, as she still remained silent, her 
husband proceeded. 

“ And now, loveliest, your wish is gratified, and 
you have seen your vassal in such of his trim array 
as accords with riding vestments ; for robes of state 
and coronets are only for princely halls.” 

“ Well, then,” said the Countess, “ my gratified 
wish has, as usual, given rise to a new one.” 

“ And what is it thou canst ask that I can deny ? ” 
said the fond husband. 

“ I wished to see my Earl visit this obscure and 
secret bower,” said the Countess, “ in all his princely 
array ; and now, methinks, I long to sit in one of his 
princely halls, and see him enter dressed in sober 
russet, as when he won poor Amy Robsart’s heart.” 

“ That is a wish easily granted,” said the Earl 
— “ the sober russet shall be donned to-morrow, 
if you will.” 

“ But shall I,” said the lady, “ go with you to one 
of your castles, to see how the richness of yout 
dwelling will correspond with your peasant habit ? ” 


KENILWORTH. 


IOI 


“Why, Amy,” said the Earl, looking around, 

are not these apartments decorated with sufficient 
splendour ? I gave the most unbounded order, and, 
methinks, it has been indifferently well obeyed — 
but if thou canst tell me aught which remains to be 
done, I will instantly give direction.” 

“ Nay, my lord, now you mock me,” replied the 
Countess ; “ the gaiety of this rich lodging exceeds 
my imagination as much as it does my desert. But 
shall not your wife, my love — at least one day soon 
— be surrounded with the honour, which arises 
neither from the toils of the mechanic who decks 
her apartment, nor from the silks and jewels with 
which your generosity adorns her, but which is 
attached to her place among the matronage, as the 
avowed wife of England’s noblest Earl ? ” 

“ One day ? ” said her husband, — “ Yes, Amy, my 
love, one day this shall surely happen ; and, believe 
me, thou canst not wish for that day more fondly 
than I. With what rapture could I rptire from la- 
bours of state, and cares and toils of ambition, to 
spend my life in dignity and honour on my own 
broad domains; with thee, my lovely Amy, for my 
friend and companion ! But, Amy, this cannot yet 
be ; and these dear but stolen interviews, are all 
I can give to the loveliest and the best beloved of 
her sex.” 

“ But why can it not be ? ” urged the Countess, in the 
softest tones of persuasion, — “ Why can it not imme- 
diately take place — this more perfect, this uninter- 
rupted union, for which you say you wish, and which 
the laws of God and man alike command ? — Ah ! 
did you but desire it half as much as you say, mighty 
and favoured as you are, who, or what, should bar 
your attaining your wish ? ” 


102 


KENILWORTH. 


The Earl’s brow was overcast. 

“ Amy,” he said, “ you speak of what you under- 
stand not. We that toil in courts are like those who 
climb a mountain of loose sand — we dare make no 
halt until some projecting rock afford us a secure 
footing and resting-place — if we pause sooner, we 
slide down by our own weight, an object of universal 
derision. I stand high, but I stand not secure enough 
to follow my own inclination. To declare my mar- 
riage, were to be the artificer of my own ruin. But, 
believe me, I will reach a point, and that speedily, 
when I can do justice to thee and to myself. Mean- 
time, poison not the bliss of the present moment, by 
desiring that which cannot- at present be. Let me 
rather know whether all here is managed to thy 
liking. How does Foster bear himself to you ? — in 
all things respectful, I trust, else the fellow shall 
dearly rue it.” 

“ He reminds me sometimes of the necessity of this 
privacy,” answered the lady, with a sigh ; “ but that 
is reminding me of your wishes, and therefore, I am 
rather bound to him than disposed to blame him 
for it.” 

“ I have told you the stern necessity which is upon 
us,” replied the Earl. “Foster is, I note, somewhat 
sullen of mood, but Varney warrants to me his fidel- 
ity and devotion to my service. If thou hast aught, 
however, to complain of the mode in which he dis- 
charges his duty, he shall abye it.” 

“ O, I have nought to complain of,” answered the 
lady, “ so he discharges his task with fidelity to you ; 
and his daughter Janet is the kindest and best com- 
panion of my solitude — her little air of precision 
sits so well upon her ! ” 

“ Is she indeed ? ” said the Earl ; “ she who gives 


KENILWORTH. 


103 


you pleasure, must not pass unrewarded. — Come 
hither, damsel.” 

“ Janet,” said the lady, “ come hither to my lord.” 

Janet, who, as we already noticed, had discreetly 
retired to some distance, that her presence might be 
no check upon the private conversation of her lord 
and. lady, now came forward ; and as she made her 
reverential curtsy, the Earl could not avoid smiling 
at the contrast which the extreme simplicity of her 
dress, and the prim demureness of her looks made, 
with a very pretty countenance and a pair of black 
eyes, that laughed in spite of their mistress’s desire 
to look grave. 

“ I am bound to you, pretty damsel,” said the Earl, 
“ for the contentment which your service hath given 
to this lady.” As he said this, he took from his 
finger a ring of some price, and offered it to Janet 
Foster, adding, “ Wear this, for her sake and for 
mine.” 

“ I am well pleased, my lord,” answered Janet, de- 
murely, “ that my poor service hath gratified my lady, 
whom no one can draw nigh to without desiring to 
please ; but we of the precious Master Holdforth’s 
congregation, seek not, like the gay daughters of this 
world, to twine gold around our fingers, or wear 
stones upon our necks, like the vain women of Tyre 
and of Sidon.” 

“ O, what ! you are a grave professor of the pre- 
cise sisterhood, pretty Mrs. Janet,” said the Earl, 
“ and I think your father is of the same congrega- 
tion in sincerity ? I like you both the better for it ; 
for I have been prayed for, and wished well to, in 
your congregations. And you may the better afford 
the lack of ornament, Mrs. Janet, because your 
fingers are slender, and your neck white. But here 


ro4 


KENILWORTH. 


is what neither papist nor puritan, latitudinarian 
nor precisian, ever boggles or makes mouths at. 
E’en take it, my girl, and employ it as you list.” 

So saying, he put into her hand five broad gold 
pieces of Philip and Mary. 

“ I would not accept this gold neither,” said Janet, 
“ but that I hope to find a use for it, which will bring 
a blessing on us all.” 

“ Even please thyself, pretty Janet,” said the Earl, 
“ and I shall be well satisfied — And I prithee let 
them hasten the evening collation.” 

“I have bidden Master Varney and Master Foster 
to sup with us, my lord,” said the Countess, as Janet 
retired to obey the Earl’s commands ; “ has it your 
approbation ? ” 

“ What you do ever must have so, my sweet Amy,” 
replied her husband ; “ and I am the better pleased 
thou hast done them this grace, because Richard 
Varney is my sworn man, and a close brother of my 
secret council ; and for the present, I must needs re- 
pose much trust in this Anthony Foster.” 

“ I had a boon to beg of thee, and a secret to tell 
thee, my dear lord,” said the Countess, with a falter- 
ing accent. 

“ Let both be for to-morrow, my love,” replied the 
Earl. “I see they open the folding-doors into the 
banqueting-parlour, and as I have ridden far and 
fast, a cup of wine will not be unacceptable.” 

So saying he led his lovely wife into the next 
apartment, where Varney and Foster received them 
with the deepest reverences, which the first paid after 
the fashion of the court, and the second after that 
of the congregation. The Earl returned their saluta- 
tion with the negligent courtesy of one long used to 
such homage ; while the Countess repaid it with a 


KENILWORTH. 


105 


punctilious solicitude, which showed it was not quite 
so familiar to her. . 

The banquet at which the company seated them- 
selves, corresponded in magnificence with the splen- 
dour of the apartment in which it was served up, 
hut no domestic gave his attendance. Janet alone 
stood ready to wait upon the company ; and, indeed, 
the hoard was so well supplied with all that could 
he desired, that little or no assistance was neces- 
sary. The Earl and his lady occupied the upper 
end of the table, and Varney and Foster sat beneath 
the salt, as was the custom with inferiors. The lat- 
ter, overawed perhaps by society to which he was 
altogether unused, did not utter a single syllable 
during the repast; while Varney, with great tact 
and discernment, sustained just so much of the con- 
versation, as, without the appearance of intrusion on 
his part, prevented it from languishing, and main- 
tained the good-humour of the Earl at the highest 
pitch. This man was indeed highly qualified by na- 
ture to discharge the part in which he found him- 
self placed, being discreet and cautious on the one 
hand, and on the other, quick, keen-witted, and im- 
aginative ; so that even the Countess, prejudiced as 
she was against him on many accounts, felt and en- 
joyed his powers of conversation, and was more dis- 
posed than she had ever hitherto found herself, to 
join in the praises which the Earl lavished on his 
favourite. The hour of rest at length arrived ; the 
Earl and Countess retired to their apartment, and 
all was silent in the castle for the rest of the night. 

Early on the ensuing morning, Varney acted as 
the Earl’s chamberlain as well as his master of 
horse, though the latter was his proper office in that 
magnificent household, where knights and gentle- 


io6 


KENILWORTH. 


men of good descent were well contented to hold 
such menial situations, as nobles themselves held 
in that of the sovereign. The duties of each of 
these charges were familiar to Varney, who, sprung 
from an ancient but somewhat decayed family, was 
the Earl’s page during his earlier and more obscure 
fortunes, and, faithful to him in adversity, had after- 
wards contrived to render himself no less useful to 
him in his rapid and splendid advance to fortune ; 
thus establishing in him an interest resting both on 
present and past services, which rendered him an 
almost indispensable sharer of his confidence. 

“ Help me to do on a plainer riding-suit, Varney,” 
said the Earl, as he laid aside his morning-gown, 
flowered with silk, and lined with sables, “ and put 
these chains and fetters there ” (pointing to the col- 
lars of the various Orders which lay on the table) 
“ into their place of security — my neck last night 
was well nigh broke with the weight of them. I am 
half of the mind that they shall gall me no more. 
They are bonds which knaves have invented to 
fetter fools. How think’ st thou, Varney ? ” 

“ Faith, my good lord,” said his attendant, “ I 
think fetters of gold are like no other fetters — they 
are ever the weightier the welcomer.” 

“ For all that, Varney,” replied his master, “ I am 
wellnigh resolved they shall bind me to the court 
no longer. What can further service and higher 
favour give me, beyond the rank and large estate 
which I have already secured ? — What brought 
my father to the block, but that he could not bound 
his wishes within right and reason ? — I have, you 
know, had mine own ventures and mine own escapes : 
I am wellnigh resolved to tempt the sea no farther, 
but sit me down in quiet on the shore.” 


KENILWORTH. 107 

u And gather cockle-shells, with Dan Cupid to aid 
you,” said Varney. 

“ How mean you by that, Varney ? ” said the Earl, 
somewhat hastily. 

“Nay, my lord,” said Varney, “be not angry with 
me. If your lordship is happy in a lady so rarely 
lovely, that in order to enjoy her company with 
somewhat more freedom, you are willing to part 
with all you have hitherto lived for, some of your 
poor servants may be sufferers ; but your bounty 
hath placed me so high, that I shall ever have 
enough to maintain a poor gentleman in the rank 
befitting the high office he has held in your lord- 
ship’s family.” 

“Yet you seem discontented when I propose 
throwing up a dangerous game, which may end in 
the ruin of both of us.” 

“I, my lord?” said Varney; “surely I have no 
cause to regret your lordship’s retreat ! — It will not 
be Richard Varney who will incur the displeasure 
of majesty, and the ridicule of the court, when the 
stateliest fabric that ever was founded upon a 
prince’s favour melts away like a morning frost- 
work. — I would only have you yourself be assured, 
my lord, ere you take a step which cannot be re- 
tracted, that you consult your fame and happiness 
in the course you propose.” 

“ Speak on, then, Varney,” said the Earl ; “I tell 
thee I have determined nothing, and will weigh all 
considerations on either side.” 

“Well, then, my lord,” replied Varney, “we will 
suppose the step taken, the frown frowned, the 
laugh laughed, and the moan moaned. You have 
retired, we will say, to some one of your most dis- 
tant castles, so far from court that you hear neither 


io8 


KENILWORTH. 


the sorrow of your friends, nor the glee of your en- 
emies. We will suppose, too, that your successful 
rival will be satisfied (a thing greatly to be doubted) 
with abridging and cutting away the branches of 
the great tree which so long kept the sun from him, 
and that he does not insist upon tearing you up by 
the roots. Well; the late prime favourite of Eng- 
land, who wielded her general’s staff and controlled 
her parliaments, is now a rural baron, hunting, 
hawking, drinking fat ale with country esquires, 
and mustering his men at the command of the 
High Sheriff" 

“ Varney, forbear ! " said the Earl. 

“ Nay, my lord, you must give me leave to con- 
clude my picture. — Sussex governs England — the 
Queen’s health fails — the succession is to be settled 
— a road is opened to ambition more splendid than 
ambition ever dreamed of. — You hear all this as 
you sit by the hob, under the shade of your hall- 
chimney — You then begin to think what hopes 
you have fallen from, and what insignificance you 
have embraced — and all that you might look babies 
in the eyes of your fair wife oftener than once a 
fortnight." 

“ I say, Varney," said the Earl, “no more of 
this. I said not that the step, which my own ease 
and comfort would urge me to, was to be taken 
hastily, or without due consideration to the public 
safety. Bear witness to me, Varney ; I subdue my 
wishes of retirement, not because I am moved by 
the' call of private ambition, but that I may preserve 
the position in which I may best serve my country 
at the hour of need. — Order our horses presently — 
I will wear, as formerly, one of the livery cloaks, 
and ride before the portmantle. — Thou shalt be 


KENILWORTH. 


109 

master for the day, Varney — neglect nothing that 
can blind suspicion. We will to horse ere men are 
stirring. I will but take leave of my lady, and be 
ready. I impose a restraint on my own poor heart, 
and wound one yet more dear to me; but the 
patriot must subdue the husband.” 

Having said this in a melancholy but firm accent, 
he left the dressing apartment. 

“ I am glad thou art gone,” thought Varney, “ or, 
practised as I am in the follies of mankind, I had 
laughed in the very face of thee ! Thou mayst tire 
as thou wilt of thy new bauble, thy pretty piece of 
painted Eve’s flesh there, I will not be thy hinder- 
ance. But of thine old bauble, ambition, thou shalt 
not tire, for as you climb the hill, my lord, you must 
drag Eichard Varney up with you ; and if he can 
urge you to the ascent he means to profit by, be- 
lieve me he will spare neither whip nor spur. — And 
for you, my pretty lady, that would be Countess 
outright, you were best not thwart my courses, lest 
you are called to an old reckoning on a new score. 

‘ Thou shalt be master,’ did he say ? — By my faith, 
he may find that he spoke truer than he is aware 
of — And thus he, who, in the estimation of so many 
wise-judging men, can match Burleigh and Wal- 
singham in policy, and Sussex in war, becomes 
pupil to his own menial ; and all for a hazel eye and 
a little cunning red and white, and so falls ambi- 
tion. And yet if the charms of mortal woman could 
excuse a man’s politic pate for becoming bewil- 
dered, my lord had the excuse at his right hand on 
this blessed evening that has last passed over us. 
Well — let things roll as they may, he shall make 
me great, or I will make myself happy ; and for that 
softer piece of creation, if she speak not out hex 


iio 


KENILWORTH. 


interview with Tressilian, as well I think she dare 
not, she also must traffic with me for concealment 
and mutual support in spite of all this scorn.. — I 
must to the stables. — Well, my lord, I order your 
retinue now ; the time may soon come that my mas- 
ter of the horse shall order mine own. — What was 
Thomas Cromwell but a smith’s son, and he died 
my lord — on a scaffold, doubtless, but that, too, was 
in character — And what was Ralph Sadler but the 
clerk of Cromwell, and he has gazed eighteen fair 
lordships, — via ! I know my steerage as well as 
they.” 

So saying, he left the apartment. 

In the meanwhile the Earl had re-entered the 
bedchamber, bent on taking a hasty farewell of the 
lovely Countess, and scarce daring to trust himself 
in private with her, to hear requests again urged, 
which he found it difficult to parry, yet which his 
recent conversation with his master of horse had 
determined him not to grant. 

He found her in a white cymar of silk lined with 
furs, her little feet unstockinged and hastily thrust 
into slippers ; her unbraided hair escaping from 
under her midnight coif, with little array but her 
own loveliness, rather augmented than diminished 
by the grief which she felt at the approaching 
moment of separation. 

“Now, God be with thee, my dearest and love- 
liest ! ” said the Earl, scarce tearing himself from 
her embrace, yet again returning to fold her again 
and again in his arms, and again bidding farewell, 
and again returning to kiss and bid adieu once 
more. “ The sun is on the verge of the blue hori- 
zon — I dare not stay. — Ere this I should have been 
ten miles from hence.” 


KENILWORTH. 


iii 


Such were the words, with which at length he 
strove to cut short their parting interview. 

“ You will not grant my request, then ? ” said the 
Countess. “ Ah, false knight ! did ever lady, with 
bare foot in slipper, seek boon of a brave knight, 
yet return with denial ? ” 

“ Any thing, Amy, any thing thou canst ask I 
will grant,” answered the Earl — “ always except- 
ing,” he said, “ that which might ruin us both.” 

“Nay,” said the Countess, “I urge not my wish 
to be acknowledged in the character which would 
make me the envy of England — as the wife, that is, 
of my brave and noble lord, the first as the most 
fondly beloved of English nobles. — Let me but 
share the secret with my dear father ! — Let me but 
end his misery on my unworthy account — they say 
he is ill, the good old kind-hearted man ! ” 

“They say?” asked the Earl, hastily; “who 
says ? Did not Varney convey to Sir Hugh all we 
dare at present tell him concerning your happiness 
and welfare ? and has he not told you that the good 
old knight was following, with good heart and 
health, his favourite and wonted exercise ? Who 
has dared put other thoughts into your head ? ” 

“ O, no one, my lord, no one,” said the Countess, 
something alarmed at the tone in which the ques- 
tion was put ; “ but yet, my lord, I would fain be 
assured by mine own eye-sight that my father is 
well.” 

“ Be contented, Amy — thou canst not now have 
communication with thy father or his house. Were 
it not a deep course of policy to commit no secret 
unnecessarily to the custody of more than must 
needs be, it were sufficient reason for secrecy, that 
yonder Cornish man, yonder Trevanion, or Tressilian, 


112 


KENILWORTH. 


or whatever his name is, haunts the old knight's 
house, and must necessarily know whatever is 
communicated there.” 

“ My lord,” answered the Countess, “ I do not 
think it so. My father has been long noted a wor- 
thy and honourable man; and for Tressilian, if we 
can pardon ourselves the ill we have wrought him, 
I will wager the coronet I am to share with you 
one day, that he is incapable of returning injury 
for injury.” 

“ I will not trust him, however, Amy,” said her 
husband ; “ by my honour, I will not trust him — 
I would rather the foul fiend intermingle in our 
secret than this Tressilian ! ” 

“ And why, my lord ? ” said the Countess, though 
she shuddered slightly at the tone of determination 
in which he spoke ; “ let me but know why you 
think thus hardly ot Tressilian ? ” 

“ Madam,” replied the Earl, “ my will ought to 
be a sufficient reason — If you desire more, consider 
how this Tressilian is leagued, and with whom. 
He stands high in the opinion of this Radcliffe, this 
Sussex, against whom I am barely able to maintain 
my ground in the opinion of our suspicious mistress ; 
and if he had me at such advantage, Amy, as to 
become acquainted with the tale of our marriage, 
before Elizabeth were fitly prepared, I were an out- 
cast from her grace for ever — - a bankrupt at once in 
favour and in fortune, perhaps, for she hath in her 
a touch of her father Henry, — a victim, and it 
may be a bloody one, to her offended and jealous 
resentment.” 

“But why, my lord,” again urged his lady, 
“should you deem thus injuriously of a man, of 
whom you know so little ? What you do know of 


KENILWORTH. 


”3 


Tressilian is through me, and it is I who assure you 
that in no circumstances will he betray your secret. 
If I did him wrong in your behalf, my lord, I am 
now the more concerned you should do him justice. 
— You are offended at my speaking of him, what 
would you say had I actually myself seen him ? ” 

“ If you had,” replied the Earl, “ you would do 
well to keep that interview as secret as that which 
is spoken in a confessional. I seek no one’s ruin ; 
but he who thrusts himself on my secret privacy, 
were better look well to his future walk. The bear 1 
brooks no one to cross his awful path.” 

“ Awful, indeed ! ” said the Countess, turning very 
pale. 

“ You are ill, my love,” said the Earl, support- 
ing her in his arms ; “ stretch yourself on your 
couch again ; it is but an early day for you to leave 
it. — Have you aught else, involving less than my 
fame, my fortune, and my life, to ask of me ? ” 

“ Nothing, my lord and love,” answered the 
Countess, faintly ; “ something there was that I 
would have told you, but your anger has driven it 
from my recollection.” 

“ Reserve it till our next meeting, my love,” said 
the Earl fondly, and again embracing her; “and 
barring only those requests which I cannot and dare 
not grant, thy wish must be more than England and 
all its dependencies can fulfil, if it is not gratified 
to the letter.” 

Thus saying, he at length took farewell. At the 
bottom of the staircase he received from Varney 
an ample livery cloak and slouched hat, in which 
he wrapped himself so as to disguise his person, and 

1 The Leicester cognizance was the ancient device adopted by his 
father, when Earl of Warwick, the bear and ragged staff. 


1*4 


KENILWORTH. 


completely conceal his features. Horses were ready 
in the court-yard for himself and Varney ; — for one 
or two of his train, intrusted witli the secret so far 
as to know or guess that the Earl intrigued with a 
beautiful lady at that mansion, though her name 
and quality were unknown to them, had already 
been dismissed over night. 

Anthony Foster himself had in hand the rein of 
the Earl’s palfrey, a stout and able nag for the road ; 
while his old serving-man held the bridle of the 
more showy and gallant steed which Richard Var- 
ney was to occupy in the character of master. 

As the Earl approached, however, Varney ad- 
vanced to hold his master’s bridle, and to prevent 
Foster from paying that duty to the Earl, which he 
probably considered as belonging to his own office. 
Foster scowled at an interference which seemed in- 
tended to prevent his paying his court to his patron, 
but gave place to Varney; and the Earl, mounting 
without farther observation, and forgetting that his 
assumed character of a domestic threw him into 
the rear of his supposed master, rode pensively out 
of the quadrangle, not without waving his hand 
repeatedly in answer to the signals which were made 
by the Countess with her kerchief, from the win- 
dows of her apartment. 

While his stately form vanished under the dark 
archway which led out of the quadrangle, Varney 
muttered, “There . goes fine policy — the servant 
before the master ! ” then as he disappeared, seized 
the moment to speak a word with Foster. “ Thou 
look’st dark on me, Anthony,” he said, “ as if I had 
deprived thee of a parting nod of my lord ; but I 
have moved him to leave thee a better remembrance 
for thy faithful service See here ! a purse of as 


KENILWORTH. 


n$ 


good gold as ever chinked under a miser’s thumb 
and fore-finger. Ay, count them, lad,” said he, as 
Foster received the gold with a grim smile, “and 
add to them the goodly remembrance he gave last 
night to Janet.” 

“ How’s this ! how’s this ! ” said Anthony Fos- 
ter, hastily ; “ gave he gold to Janet ? ” 

“ Ay, man, wherefore not ? — does not her service 
to his fair lady require guerdon ? ” 

“ She shall have none on’t,” said Foster ; “ she 
shall return it. I know his dotage on one face is 
as brief as it is deep. His affections are as fickle as 
the moon.” 

“Why, Foster, thou art mad — thou dost not 
hope for such good fortune, as that my lord should 
cast an eye on Janet? — Who, in the fiend’s name, 
would listen to the thrush when the nightingale is 
singing ? ” 

“ Thrush or nightingale, all is one to the fowler ; 
and, Master Varney, you can sound the quailpipe 
most daintily to wile wantons into his nets. I de- 
sire no such devil’s preferment for Janet as you have 
brought many a poor maiden to — Dost thou laugh ? 
— I will keep one limb of my family, at least, from 
Satan’s clutches, ' that thou mayst rely on — She 
shall restore the gold.” 

“Ay, or give it to thy keeping, Tony, which 
will serve as well,” answered Varney ; “ but I have 
that to say which is more serious. — Our lord is 
returning to court in an evil humour for us.” 

“ How meanest thou ? ” said Foster. “ Is he tired 
already of his pretty toy — his plaything yonder ? 
He has purchased her at a monarch’s ransom, and 
I warrant me he rues his bargain.” 

“Hot a whit, Tony,” answered the master of the 


ii6 


KENILWORTH. 


horse ; “he dotes on her, and will forsake the court 
for her — then down go hopes, possessions, and 
safety — church-lands are resumed, Tony, and well 
if the holders be not called to account in Exchequer.” 

“ That were ruin,” said Foster, his brow darken- 
ing with apprehensions ; “ and all this for a woman ! 
— Had it been for his soul’s sake, it were some- 
thing ; and I sometimes wish I myself could fling 
away the world that cleaves to me, and be as one 
of the poorest of our church.” 

“ Thou art like enough to be so, Tony,” answered 
Varney; “but I think the devil will give thee little 
credit for thy compelled poverty, and so thou losest 
on all hands. But follow my counsel, and Cumnor- 
Place shall be thy copyhold yet — Say nothing of 
this Tressilian’s visit — not a word until I give thee 
notice.” 

“And wherefore, I pray you?” asked Foster, 
suspiciously. 

“Dull beast!” replied Varney; “in my lord’s 
present humour it were the ready way to confirm 
him in his resolution of retirement, should he know 
that his lady was haunted with such a spectre in 
his absence. He would be for playing the dragon 
himself over his golden fruit, and then, Tony, thy 
occupation is ended. A word to the wise — Fare- 
well — I must follow him.” 

He turned his horse, struck him with the spurs, 
and rode off under the archway in pursuit of his 
lord. “Would thy occupation were ended, or thy 
neck broken, damned pander!” said Anthony Fos 
ter. “ But I must follow his beck, for his interest 
and mine are the same, and he can wind the proud 
Earl to his will. Janet shall give me those pieces 
though — they shall be laid out ip some way for 


KENILWORTH. 


117 


God’s service, and I will keep them separate in my 
strong chest, till I can fall upon a fitting employ- 
ment for them. No contagious vapour shall breathe 
on Janet — she shall remain pure as a blessed 
spirit, were it but to pray God for her father. I 
need her prayers, for I am at a hard pass — Strange 
reports are abroad concerning my way of life. The 
congregation look cold on me, and when Master 
Holdforth spoke of hypocrites being like a whited 
sepulchre, which within was full of dead men’s 
bones, meth ought he looked full at me. The Rom- 
ish was a comfortable faith ; Lambourne spoke true 
in that. A man had but to follow his thrift by 
such ways as offered — tell his beads — hear a mass 
— confess, and be absolved. These puritans tread 
a harder and a rougher path ; but I will try — I will 
read my Bible for an hour ere I again open mine 
iron chest.” 

Varney, meantime, spurred after his lord, whom 
he found waiting for him at the postern-gate of the 
park. 

“You waste time, Varney,” said the Earl; “and 
it presses. I must be at Woodstock before I can 
safely lay aside my disguise ; and till then I jour- 
ney in some peril.” 

“ It is but two hours’ brisk riding, my lord,” 
said Varney ; . “ for me, I only stopped to enforce 
your commands of care and secrecy on yonder Fos- 
ter, and to enquire about the abode of the gentle- 
man whom I would promote to your lordship’s 
train, in the room of Trevors.’’ 

“ Is he fit for the meridian of the antechamber, 
think’st thou ? ” said the Earl. 

“He promises well, my lord,” replied Varney; 
“but if your lordship were pleased to ride on, I 


KENILWORTH. 


1 1 8 

could go back to Cumnor, and bring him to your 
lordship at Woodstock before you are out of bed.” 

“ Why, I am asleep there, thou knowest, at this 
moment,” said the Earl: “and I pray you not to 
spare horse-flesh, that you may be with me at my 
levee.” 

So saying, he gave his horse the spur, and pro- 
ceeded on his journey, while Varney rode back to 
Cumnor by the public road, avoiding the park. The 
latter alighted at the door of the bonny Black Bear, 
and desired to speak with Master Michael Lam- 
bourne. That respectable character was not long 
of appearing before his new patron, but it was with 
downcast looks. 

“ Thou hast lost the scent,” said Varney, “ of 
thy comrade Tressilian. — I know it by thy hang- 
dog visage. Is this thy alacrity, thou impudent 
knave? ” 

“ Cogswounds ! ” said Lambourne, “ there was 
never a trail so finely hunted. I saw him to earth 
at mine uncle’s here — stuck to him like bees’ wax 

— saw him at supper — watched him tp his cham- 
ber, and presto — lie is gone next morning, the very 
hostler knows not where ! ” 

“ This sounds like practice upon me, sir,” replied 
Varney ; “ and if it prove so, by my soul you shall 
repent it ! ” 

“ Sir, the best hound will be sometimes at fault,” 
answered Lambourne; “how should it serve me 
that this fellow should have thus evanished ? You 
may ask mine host, Giles Gosling — ask the tapster 
and hostler — ask Cicely, and the whole household, 
how I kept eyes on Tressilian while he was on foot. 

— On my soul, I could not be expected to watch 
him like a sick nurse, when I had seen him fairly 


KENILWORTH. 


”9 


a-bed in his chamber. That will be allowed me, 
surely.” 

Varney did, in fact, make some enquiry among 
the household, which confirmed the truth of Lam- 
bourne’s statement. Tressilian, it was unanimously 
agreed, had departed suddenly and unexpectedly, 
betwixt night and morning. 

“ But I will wrong no one,” said mine host ; “ he 
left on the table in his lodging the full value of his 
reckoning, with some allowance to the servants of 
the house, which was the less necessary, that he 
saddled his own gelding, as it seems, without the 
hostler’s assistance.” 

Thus satisfied of the rectitude of Lambourne’s 
conduct, Varney began to talk to him upon his 
future prospects, and the mode in which he meant 
to bestow himself, intimating that he understood 
from Foster, he was not disinclined to enter into 
the household of a nobleman. 

“ Have you,” said he, “ ever been at court ? ” 

“No,” replied Lambourne ; “but ever since I 
was ten years old, I have dreamt once a- week that 
I was there, and made my fortune.” 

“ It may be your own fault if your dream comes 
not true,” said Varney. “ Are you needy ? ” 

“ Um ! ” replied Lambourne ; “ I love pleasure.” 

“ That is a sufficient answer, and an honest one,” 
said Varney. “Know you aught of the requisites 
expected from the retainer of a rising courtier ? ” 

“ I have imagined them to myself, sir,” answered 
Lambourne ; “ as for example, a quick eye — a close 
mouth — a ready and bold hand — a sharp wit, and 
a blunt conscience.” 

“And thine, I suppose,” said Varney, “has had 
its edge blunted long since ? ” 


120 


KENILWORTH. 


“ I cannot remember, sir, that its edge was ever 
over keen,” replied Lambourne. “ When I was a 
youth, I had some few whimsies, but I rubbed them 
partly out of my recollection on the rough grindstone 
of the wars, and what remained I washed out in the 
broad waves of the Atlantic.” 

“ Thou hast served, then, in the Indies ? ” 

“In both East and West,” answered the candi- 
date for court-service, “by both sea and land; I 
have served both the Portugal and the Spaniard — 
both the Dutchman and the Frenchman, and have 
made war on our own account with a crew of jolly 
fellows, who held there was no peace beyond the 
Line.” 1 

“Thou mayst do me, and my lord, and thyself, 
good service” said Varney, after a pause. “But 
observe, I know the world — and answer me truly, 
canst thou be faithful ? ” 

“ Did you not know the world,” answered Lam- 
bourne, “ it were my duty to say ay, without further 
circumstance, and to swear to it with life and hon- 
our, and so forth. But as it seems to me that your 
worship is one who desires rather honest truth than 
politic falsehood — I reply to you, that I can be faith- 
ful to the gallows’ foot, ay, to the loop that dangles 
from it, if I am well used and well recompensed ; — 
not otherwise.” 

“ To thy other virtues thou canst add, no doubt,” 
said Varney, in a jeering tone, “ the knack of seem- 
ing serious and religious, when the moment de- 
mands it ? ” 

“ It would cost me nothing,” said Lambourne, “ to 
say yes — but, to speak on the square, I must needs 

1 Sir Francis Drake, Morgan, and many a bold Buccanier of 
those days, were, in fact, little better than pirates. 


KENILWORTH. 


121 


say no. If you want a hypocrite, you may take 
Anthony Foster, who, from his childhood, had some 
sort of phantom haunting him, which he called reli- 
gion, though it was that sort of godliness which al- 
ways ended in being great gain. But I have no 
such knack of it.” 

“Well,” replied Varney, “if thou hast no hypo- 
crisy, hast thou not a nag here in the stable ? ” 

“ Ay, sir,” said Lambourne, “ that shall take hedge 
and ditch with my Lord Duke’s best hunters. When 
1 made a little mistake on Shooter’s Hill, and stopped 
an ancient grazier whose pouches were better lined 
than his brain-pan, the bonny bay nag carried me 
sheer off, in spite of the whole hue and cry.” 

“ Saddle him then, instantly, and attend me,” said 
Varney. “Leave thy clothes and baggage under 
charge of mine host, and- I will conduct thee to a 
service, in which, if thou do not better thyself, the 
fault shall not be fortune’s, but thine own.” 

“Brave and hearty!” said Lambourne, “and I 
am mounted in an instant. — Knave, hostler, saddle 
my nag without the loss of one second, as thou dost 
value the safety of thy noddle. — Pretty Cicely, 
take half this purse to comfort thee for my sudden 
departure.” 

“ Gogsnouns ! ” replied the father, “ Cicely wants 
no such token from thee. — Go away, Mike, and 
gather grace if thou canst, though I think thou goest 
not to the land where it grows.” 

“ Let me look at this Cicely of thine, mine host,” 
said V arney ; “ 1 have heard much talk of her 
beauty.” 

“It is a sunburnt beauty,” said mine host, “well 
qualified to stand out rain and wind, but little cal- 
culated to please such critical gallants as yourself, 


22 


KENILWORTH. 


She keeps her chamber, and cannot encounter the 
glance of such sunny-day courtiers as my noble 
guest.” 

' w ell, peace be with her, my good host,” answered 
Varney ; “ our horses are impatient — we bid you good 
day.” 

“ Does my nephew go with you, so please you ? ” 
said Gosling. 

“ Ay, such is his purpose,” answered Richard 
Varney. 

“'You are right — fully right,” replied mine host 
— “ you are, I say, fully right, my kinsman. Thou 
hast got a gay horse, see thou light not unaware 
upon a halter — or, if thou wilt needs be made im- 
mortal by means of a rope, which thy purpose of 
following this gentleman renders not unlikely, I 
charge thee to find a gallows as far from Cumnor as 
thou conveniently mayst ; and so I commend you 
to your saddle.” 

The master of the horse . and his new retainer 
mounted accordingly, leaving the landlord to con- 
clude his ill-oiiiened farewell, to himself and at 
leisure ; and set off together at a rapid pace, which 
prevented conversation until the ascent of a steep 
sandy hill permitted them to resume it. 

“ You are contented, then,” said Varney to his 
companion, “ to take court service ? ” 

“ Ay, worshipful sir, if you like my terms as well 
as I like yours.” 

“And what are your terms ?” demanded Varney. 

“ If I am to have a quick eye for my patron’s in- 
terest, he must have a dull one towards my faults,” 
said Lambourne. 

“ Ay,” said Varney, “ so they lie not so grossly open 
that he must needs break his shins over them.” 


KENILWORTH. 


123 

“ Agreed,” said Lambourne. " Next, if I run down 
game, I must have the picking of the bones.” 

“That is but reason,” replied Varney, “so that 
your betters are served before you.” 

“ Good,” said Lambourne ; “ and it only remains 
to be said, that if the law and I quarrel, my patron 
must bear me out, for that is a chief point.” 

“ Reason again,” said Varney, “ if the quarrel hath 
happened in your master’s service.” 

“For the wage and so forth, I say nothing,” pro- 
ceeded Lambourne ; “ it is the secret guerdon that I 
must live by.” 

“ Never fear,” said Varney ; “ thou shalt have 
clothes and spending money to ruffle it with the best 
of thy degree, for thou goest to a household where 
you have gold, as they say, by the eye.” 

“ That jumps all with my humour,” replied Mi- 
chael Lambourne ; “ and it only remains that you 
tell me my master’s name.” 

“ My name is Master Richard Varney,” answered 
his companion. 

“ But I mean,” said Lambourne, “ the name of the 
noble lord to whose service you are to prefer me.” 

“ How, knave, art thou too good to call me mas- 
ter ? ” said Varney, hastily ; “ I would have thee 
bold to others, but not saucy to me.” 

“ I crave your worship’s pardon,” said Lambourne ; 
“but you seemed familiar with Anthony Foster, now 
I am familiar with Anthony myself.” 

“ Thou art a shrewd knave, I see,” replied Var- 
ney. “ Mark me — I do indeed propose to intro- 
duce thee into a nobleman’s household; but it is 
upon my person thou wiJt chiefly wait, and upon my 
countenance that thou wilt depend. I am his mas- 
ter of horse — Thou wilt soon know his name — 


124 


KENILWORTH. 


it is one that shakes the council and wields the 
state.” 

“ By this light, a brave spell to conjure with,” 
said Lambourne, “ if a man would discover hidden 
treasures ! ” 

“ Used with discretion, it may prove so,” replied 
Varney ; “ but mark — if thou conjure with it at 
thine own hand, it may raise a devil who will tear 
thee in fragments.” 

“ Enough said,” replied Lambourne ; “ I will not 
exceed my limits.” 

The travellers then resumed the rapid rate of trav- 
elling which their discourse had interrupted, and 
soon arrived at the Royal Park of Woodstock. This 
ancient possession of the crown of England was then 
very different from what it had been when it was 
the residence of the fair Rosamond, and the scene 
of Henry the Second’s secret and illicit amours ; and 
yet more unlike to the scene which it exhibits in 
the present day, when Blenheim-House commemo- 
rates the victory of Marlborough, and no less the 
genius of Vanburgh, though decried in his own time 
by persons of taste far inferior to his own. It was, 
in Elizabeth’s time, an ancient mansion in bad re- 
pair, which had long ceased to be honoured with the 
royal residence, to the great impoverishment of the 
adjacent village. The inhabitants, however, had 
made several petitions to the Queen to have the 
favour of the sovereign’s countenance occasionally 
bestowed upon them ; and upon this very business, 
ostensibly at least, was the noble lord, whom we 
have already introduced to our readers, a visitor at 
Woodstock. 

Varney and Lambourne galloped without cere- 
mony into the court-yard of the ancient and dilapi- 


KENILWORTH. 


1*5 

dated mansion, which presented on that morning a 
scene of bustle which it had not exhibited for two 
reigns. Officers of the Earl’s household, livery-men 
and retainers, went and came with all the insolent 
fracas which attaches to their profession. The 
neigh of horses and the baying of hounds were 
heard ; for my lord, in his occupation of inspecting 
and surveying the manor and demesne, was of course 
provided with the means of following his pleasure 
in the chase or park, said to have been the earliest 
that was enclosed in England, and which was well 
stocked with deer that had long roamed there un- 
molested. Several of the inhabitants of the village, 
in anxious hope of a favourable result from this 
unwonted visit, loitered about the court-yard, and 
awaited the great man’s coming forth. Their atten- 
tion was excited by the hasty arrival of Varney, and 
a murmur ran amongst them, “ The Earl’s master of 
the horse ! ” while they hurried to bespeak favour 
by hastily unbonneting, and proffering to hold the 
bridle and stirrup of the favoured retainer and his 
attendant. 

“Stand somewhat aloof, my masters!” said Var- 
ney, haughtily, “ and let the domestics do their 
office.” 

The mortified citizens and peasants fell back at 
the signal ; while Lambourne, who had his eye upon 
his superior’s deportment, repelled the services of 
those who offered to assist him, with yet more dis- 
courtesy — “ Stand back, Jack peasant, with a mur- 
rain to you, and let these knave footmen do their 
duty ! ” 

While they gave their nags to the attendants of 
the household, and walked into the mansion with 
an air of superiority which long practice and con- 


KENILWORTH. 


126 

sciousness of birth rendered natural to Varney, and 
which Lambourne endeavoured to imitate as well 
as he could, the poor inhabitants of Woodstock 
whispered to each other, “Well-a-day — God save 
us from all such misproud princoxes ! An the mas- 
ter be like the men, why, the fiend may take all, 
and yet have no more than his due.” 

“ Silence, good neighbours ! ” said the Bailiff, 
“ keep tongue betwixt teeth — we shall know more 
by and by. — But never will a lord come to Wood- 
stock so welcome as bluff old King Harry ! He 
would horsewhip a fellow one day with his own 
royal hand, and then fling him an handful of silver 
groats, with his own broad face on them, to ’noint 
the sore withal.” 

“ Ay, ■ rest be with him ! ” echoed the auditors ; 
“ it will be long ere this Lady Elizabeth horsewhip 
any of us.” 

“ There is no saying,” answered the Bailiff. 
“ Meanwhile, patience, good neighbours, and let us 
comfort ourselves by thinking that we deserve such 
notice at her grace’s hands.” 

Meanwhile, Varney, closely followed by his new 
dependent, made his way to the hall, where men of 
more note and consequence than those left in the 
court-yard awaited the appearance of the Earl, who 
as yet kept his chamber. All paid court to Varney, 
with more or less deference, as suited their own 
rank, or the urgency of the business which brought 
them to his lord’s levee. To the general question 
of, “ When comes my lord forth, Master Varney ? ” 
he gave brief answers, as, “ See you not my boots ? 
I am but just returned from Oxford, and know 
nothing of it,” and the like, until the same query 
was put in a higher tone by a personage of more im- 


KENILWORTH. 


portance. “I will enquire of the chamberlain, Sir 
Thomas Copely,” was the reply. The chamberlain, 
distinguished by his silver key, answered, that 
the Earl only awaited Master Varney’s return to 
come down, but that he would first speak with him 
in his private chamber. Varney, therefore, bowed 
to the company, and took leave, to enter his lord’s 
apartment. 

There was a murmur of expectation which lasted 
a few minutes, and was at length hushed by the 
opening of the folding-doors at the upper end of the 
apartment, through which the Earl made his en- 
trance, marshalled by his chamberlain and the stew- 
ard of his family, and followed by Richard Varney. 
In his noble mien and princely features, men read 
nothing of that insolence which was practised by 
his dependents. His courtesies were, indeed, mea- 
sured by the rank of those to whom they were ad- 
dressed, but even the meanest person present had a 
share of his gracious notice. The enquiries which 
he made respecting the condition of the manor, of 
the Queen’s rights there, and of the advantages and 
disadvantages which might attend her occasional re- 
sidence at the royal seat of Woodstock, seemed to 
show that he had most earnestly investigated the 
matter of the petition of the inhabitants, and with a 
desire to forward the interest of the place. 

“ Now the Lord love his noble countenance,” said 
the Bailiff, who had thrust himself into the presence- 
chamber ; “ he looks somewhat pale. I warrant him 
he hath spent the whole night in perusing our me- 
morial. Master Toughyarn, who took six months 
to draw it up, said it would take a week to under- 
stand it ; and see if the Earl hath not knocked the 
marrow out of it in twenty-four hours ! " 


128 


KENILWORTH. 


The Earl then acquainted them that he should 
move their sovereign to honour Woodstock occa- 
sionally with her residence during her royal pro- 
gresses, that the town and its vicinity might derive, 
from her countenance and favour, the same advan- 
tages as from those of her predecessors. Meanwhile, 
he rejoiced to he the expounder of her gracious 
pleasure, in assuring them that, for the increase of 
trade and encouragement of the worthy burgesses 
of Woodstock, her majesty was minded to erect the 
town into a Staple for wool. 

This joyful intelligence was received with the 
acclamations not only of the better sort who were 
admitted to the audience-chamber, but of the com- 
mons who awaited without. 

The freedom of the corporation was presented 
to the Earl upon knee by the magistrates of the 
place, together with a purse of gold pieces, which 
the Earl handed to Varney, who, on his part, gave a 
share to Lambourne, as the most acceptable earnest 
of his new service. 

The Earl and his retinue took horse soon after 
to return to court, accompanied by the shouts of the 
inhabitants of Woodstock, who made the old oaks 
ring with re-echoing, “ Long live Queen Elizabeth, 
and the noble Earl of Leicester ! ” The urbanity 
and courtesy of the Earl even threw a gleam of 
popularity over his attendants, as their haughty 
deportment had formerly obscured that of their 
master; and men shouted, “Long life to the Earl, 
and to his gallant followers I ” as Varney and Lam- 
boume, each in his rank, rode proudly through the 
streets of Woodstock. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


Host. I will hear you, Master Fenton ; 

And I will, at least, keep your counsel. 

Merry Wives of Windsor . 

It becomes necessary to return to the detail of 
those circumstances which accompanied, and indeed 
occasioned, the sudden disappearance of Tressilian 
from the sign of the Black Bear at Cumnor. It 
will be recollected that this^ gentleman, after his 
rencounter with Varney, had returned to Giles 
Gosling’s caravansary, where he shut himself up in 
his own chamber, demanded pen, ink, and paper, 
and announced his purpose to remain private for the 
day : in the evening he appeared again in the public 
room, where Michael Lambourne, who had been 
on the watch for him, agreeably to his engagement • 
to Varney, endeavoured to renew his acquaintance 
with him, and hoped he retained no unfriendly 
recollection of the part he had taken in the morn- 
ing’s scuffle. 

But Tressilian repelled his advances firmly, though 
with civility — “ Master Lambourne,” he said, “ I 
trust I have recompensed to your pleasure the time 
you have wasted on me. Under the show of wild 
bluntness which you exhibit, I know you have sense 
enough to understand me, when I say frankly, that 
the object of our temporary acquaintance having . 
been accomplished, we must be strangers to each 
other in future.” 


KENILWORTH. 


r 3° 

“ Voto ! ” said Lambourne, twirling his whiskers 
with one hand, and grasping the hilt of his weapon 
with the other ; “if I thought that this usage was 
meant to insult me ” 

“ You would bear it with discretion, doubtless,” 
interrupted Tressilian, “ as you must do at any rate 
You know too well the distance that is betwixt us, 
to require me to explain myself farther — Good 
evening.” 

So saying, he turned his back upon his former 
companion, and entered into discourse with the land- 
lord. Michael Lambourne felt strongly disposed 
to bully ; but his wrath died away in a few incohe- 
rent oaths and ejaculations, and he sank unresist- 
ingly under the ascendency which superior spirits 
possess over persons of his habits and description. 
He remained moody and silent in a corner of the 
apartment, paying the most marked attention to 
every motion of his late companion, against whom 
he began now to nourish a quarrel on his own 
account, which he trusted to avenge by the execu- 
* tion of his new master Varney’s directions. The 
hour of supper arrived, and was followed by that 
of repose, when Tressilian, like others, retired to his 
sleeping apartment. 

He had not been in bed long, when the train of 
sad reverses, which supplied the place of rest in his 
disturbed mind, was suddenly interrupted by the 
jar of a door on its hinges, and a light was seen to 
glimmer in the apartment. Tressilian, who was as 
brave as steel, sprang from his bed at this alarm, 
and had laid hand upon his sword, when he was 
.prevented from drawing it by a voice which said, 
“ Be not too rash with your rapier, Master Tres- 
silian — It is I, your host, Giles Gosling.” 


KENILWORTH. 


13 * 


At the same time, unshrouding the dark lantern, 
which had hitherto only emitted an indistinct glim- 
mer, the goodly aspect and figure of the landlord 
of the Black Bear was visibly presented to his 
astonished guest. 

“What mummery is this, mine host? ’’said Tres- 
silian ; “ have you supped as jollily as last night, 
and so mistaken your chamber ? or is midnight a 
time for masquerading it in your guest’s lodging?” 

“ Master Tressilian,” replied mine host, “ I know 
my place and my time as well as e’er a merry land- 
lord in England. But here has been my hang-dog 
kinsman watching you as close as ever cat watched 
a mouse ; and here have you, on the other hand, 
quarrelled and fought, either with him or with 
some other person, and I fear that danger will come 
of it.” 

“Go to, thou art but a fool, man,” said Tressi- 
lian ; “ thy kinsman is beneath my resentment ; and 
besides, why shouldst thou think I had quarrelled 
with any one whomsoever?” 

“ Oh ! sir,” replied the innkeeper, “ there was a 
red spot on thy very cheek-bone, which boded of a 
late brawl, as sure as the conjunction of Mars and 
Saturn threatens misfortune — and when you re- 
turned, the buckles of your girdle were brought for- 
ward, and your step was quick and hasty, and all 
things showed your hand and your hilt had been 
lately acquainted.” 

“ Well, good mine host, if I have been obliged 
to draw my sword, ” said Tressilian, “ why should 
such a circumstance fetch thee out of thy warm 
bed at this time of night ? Thou seest the mis- 
chief is all over. ” 

“ Under favour, that is what I doubt. Anthony 


KENILWORTH. 


13 * 

Foster is a dangerous man, defended by strong 
court patronage, which hath borne him out in mat- 
ters of very deep concernment. And, then, my 
kinsman — why, I have told you what he is; and 
if these two old cronies have made up their old 
acquaintance, I would not, my worshipful guest, 
that it should be at thy cost. I promise you, Mike 
Lambourne has been making very particular en- 
quiries at my hostler, when and which way you 
ride. Now, I would have you think, whether you 
may not have done or said something for which 
you may be waylaid, and taken at disadvantage. ” 

“ Thou art an honest man, mine host, ” said Tres- 
silian, after a moment’s consideration, “ and I will 
deal frankly with thee. I,f these men’s malice is 
directed against me — as I deny not but it may — 
it is because they are the agents of a more power- 
ful villain than themselves. ” 

“ You mean Master Richard Varney, do you 
not ? ” said the landlord ; “ he was at Cumnor- 
Place yesterday, and came not thither so private 
but what he was espied by one who told me. ” 

“ I mean the same, mine host. ” 

“ Then, for God’s sake, worshipful Master Tres- 
silian,” said honest Gosling, “.look well to your- 
self. This Varney is the protector and patron of 
Anthony Foster, who holds under him, and by his 
favour, some lease of yonder mansion and the park. 
Varney got a large grant of the lands of the Abbacy 
of Abingdon, and Cumnor-Place amongst others, 
from his master, the Earl of Leicester. Men say 
he can do every thing with him, though I hold the 
Earl too good a nobleman to employ him as some 
men talk of. — And then the Earl can do any thing 
(that is any thing right or fitting) with the Queen, 


KENILWORTH. 


*33 


God bless her ; so you see what an enemy you have 
made to yourself. ” 

“ Well — it is done, and I cannot help it, ” an- 
swered Tressilian. 

“ Uds precious, hut it must be helped in some 
manner,” said the host. “ Richard Varney — why, 
what between his influence with my lord, aud his 
pretending to so many old and vexatious claims in 
right of the Abbot here, men fear almost to men- 
tion his name, much more to set themselves against 
his practices. You may judge by our discourses 
the last night. Men said their pleasure of Tony 
Foster, but not a word of Richard Varney, though 
all men judge him to be at the bottom of yonder 
mystery about the pretty wench. But perhaps you 
know more of that matter than I do, for women, 
though they wear not swords, are occasion for many 
a blade’s exchanging a sheath of neat’s leather for 
one of flesh and blood. ” 

“ I do indeed know more of that poor unfortu- 
nate lady than thou dost, my friendly host; and 
so bankrupt am I, at this moment, of friends 
and advice, that I will willingly make a counsel- 
lor of thee, and tell thee the whole history, the 
rather that I have a favour to ask when my tale 
is ended. ” 

“ Good Master Tressilian, ” said the landlord, “ I 
am but a poor innkeeper, little able to adjust or 
counsel such a guest as yourself. But as sure as I 
have risen decently above the world, by giving 
good measure and reasonable charges, I am an hon- 
est man ; and as such, if I may not be able to assist 
you, I am, at least, not capable to fbuse your con- 
fidence. Say away therefore, as confidently as. if 
you spoke to your father ; and thus far at least be 


134 


KENILWORTH. 


certain, that my curiosity, for I will not deny that 
which belongs to my calling, is joined to a reason- 
able degree of discretion. ” 

“ I doubt it not, mine host, ” answered Tressilian ; 
and while his auditor remained in anxious expec- 
tation, he meditated for an instant how he should 
commence his narrative. “ My tale, ” he at length 
said, “ to be quite intelligible, must begin at some 
distance back. — You have heard of the battle of 
Stoke, my good host, and perhaps of old Sir Roger 
Robsart, who, in that battle, valiantly took part 
with Henry VII., the Queen’s grandfather, and 
routed the Earl of Lincoln, Lord Geraldin and his 
wild Irish, and the Flemings whom the Duchess 
of Burgundy had sent over, in the quarrel of Lam- 
bert Simnel? ” 

“ I remember both one and the other,” said Giles 
Gosling, “ it is sung of a dozen times a-week on my 
ale-bench below. — Sir Roger Robsart of Devon — 
0, ay, — ’tis him of whom minstrels sing to this 
hour, — 

‘He was the flower of Stoke’s red field, 

When Martin Swart on ground lay slain ; 

In raging rout he never reel’d, 

But like a rock did firm remain.* 

Ay, and then there was Martin Swart I have heard 
my grandfather talk of and of the jolly A1 mains 
whom he commanded, with their slashed doublets 
and quaint hose, all frounced with ribands above the 
nether-stocks. Here’s a song goes of Martin Swart, 
too, an I had bijt memory for it : — 


1 This verse, or something similar, occurs in a long ballad, oi 
poem, on Flodden-Field, reprinted by the late Henry Weber. 


KENILWORTH. 


T 35 


* Martin Swart and his men, 

Saddle them, saddle them, 

Martin Swart and his men; 

Saddle them well.’ ” 1 

“ True, good mine host — the day was long 
talked of ; but if you sing so loud, you will awake 
more listeners than I care to commit my confidence 
unto.” 

“ I crave pardon, my worshipful guest,” said 
mine host, “ I was oblivious. When an old song 
comes across us merry old knights of the spigot, it 
runs away with our discretion.” 

“Well, mine host, my grandfather, like some 
other Cornish-men, kept a warm affection to the 
House of York, and espoused the quarrel of this 
Simnel, assuming the title of Earl of Warwick, as 
the county afterwards, in great numbers, counte- 
nanced the cause of Perkin Warbeck, calling him- 
self the Duke of York. My grandsire joined Sim- 
nel’s standard, and was taken fighting desperately 
at Stoke, where most of the leaders of that unhappy 
army were slain in their harness. The good knight 
to whom he rendered himself, Sir Roger Robsart, 
protected him from the immediate vengeance of the 
King, and dismissed him without ransom. But he 
was unable to guard him from other penalties of his 
rashness, being the heavy fines by which he was im- 
poverished, according to Henry’s mode of weaken- 
ing his enemies. The good knight did what he might 
to mitigate the distresses of my ancestor ; and their 
friendship became so strict, that my father was bred 

1 This verse of an old song actually occurs in an old play, where 
the singer boasts, — 

“ Courteously I can both counter and knack 

Of Martin Swart and all his merry-men.” # 


136 


KENILWORTH. 


up as the sworn brother and intimate of the pre 
sent Sir Hugh Robsart, the only son of Sir Roger, 
and the heir of his honest, and generous, and hospi- 
table temper, though not equal to him in martial 
achievements.” 

“ I have heard of good Sir Hugh Robsart,” 
interrupted the host, “ many a time and oft. His 
huntsman and sworn servant, Will Badger, hath 
spoke of him an hundred times in this very house 
— a jovial knight he is, and hath loved hospitality 
and open housekeeping more than the present 
fashion, which lays as much gold lace on the seams 
of a doublet as would feed a dozen of tall fellows 
with beef and ale for a twelvemonth, and let them 
have their evening at the alehouse once a-week, to 
do good to the publican.” 

“ If you have seen Will Badger, mine host,” said 
Tressilian, “you have heard enough of Sir Hugh 
Robsart ; and therefore I will but say, that the hos- 
pitality you boast of hath proved somewhat detri- 
mental to the estate of his family, which is perhaps 
of the less consequence, as he has but one daughter 
to whom to bequeath it. And here begins my share 
in the tale. Upon my father’s death, now several 
years since, the good Sir Hugh would willingly 
have made me his constant companion. There was 
a time, however, at which I felt the kind knight’s 
excessive love for field-sports detained me from 
studies, by which I might have profited more ; but I 
ceased to regret the leisure which gratitude and he- 
reditary friendship compelled me to bestow on these 
rural avocations. The exquisite beauty of Mistress 
Amy Robsart, as she grew up from childhood to 
woman, could not escape one whom circumstances 
obliged to be so constantly in her company — I 


KENILWORTH. 137 

loved her, in short, mine host, and her father saw 
it.” 

“ And crossed your true loves, no doubt ? ” said 
mine host ; “ it is the way in all such cases ; and I 
judge it must have been so in your instance, from 
the heavy sigh you uttered even now.” 

“ The case was different, mine host. My suit 
was highly approved by the generous Sir Hugh 
Robsart — it was his daughter who was cold to my 
passion.” 

“ She was the more dangerous enemy of the two,” 
said the innkeeper. “ I fear me your suit proved a 
cold one.” 

“ She yielded me her esteem,” said Tressilian, 
“and seemed not unwilling that I should hope it 
might ripen into a warmer passion. There was a 
contract of future marriage executed betwixt us, 
upon her father’s intercession ; but to comply with 
her anxious request, the execution was deferred for 
a twelvemonth. During this period, Richard Var- 
ney appeared in the country, and, availing himself 
of some distant family connexion with Sir Hugh 
Robsart, spent much of his time in his company, 
until, at length, he almost lived in the family.” 

“ That could bode no good to the place he hon- 
oured with his residence,” said Gosling. 

“No, by the rood!” replied Tressilian. “Mis- 
understanding and misery followed his presence, yet 
so strangely, that I am at this moment at a loss to 
trace the gradations of their encroachment upon a 
family, which had, till then, been so happy. For 
a time Amy Robsart received the attentions of this 
man Varney with the indifference attached to com- 
mon courtesies ; then followed a period in which 
she seemed to regard him with dislike, and even 


138 


KENILWORTH. 


with disgust ; and then an extraordinary species of 
connexion appeared to grow up betwixt them. Var- 
ney dropped those airs of pretension and gallantry 
which had marked his former approaches ; and Amy, 
on the other hand, seemed to renounce the ill-dis- 
guised disgust with which she had regarded them. 
They seemed to have more of privacy and confi- 
dence together, than I fully liked ; and I suspected 
that they met in private, where there was less re- 
straint than in our presence. Many circumstances, 
which I noticed but little at the time — for I deemed 
her heart as open as her angelic countenance — 
have since arisen on my memory, to convince me 
of their private understanding. But I need not 
detail them — the fact speaks for itself. She vanished 
from her father’s house — Varney disappeared at the 
same time — and this very day I have seen her in 
the character of his paramour, living in the house 
of his sordid dependent Foster, and visited by him, 
muffled, and by a secret entrance.” 

“ And this, then, is the cause of your quarrel ? 
Methinks, you should have been sure that the fair 
lady either desired or deserved your interference.” 

“ Mine host,” answered Tressilian, “ my father, 
such I must ever consider Sir Hugh Robsart, sits 
at home struggling with his grief, or, if so far 
recovered, vainly attempting to drown, in the prac- 
tice of his field-sports, the recollection that he had 
once a daughter — a recollection which ever and 
anon breaks from him under circumstances the most 
pathetic. I could not brook the idea that he should 
live in misery, and Amy in guilt ; and I endeavoured 
to seek her out, with the hope of inducing her to 
return to her family. I have found her, and when 
I have either succeeded in my attempt, or have 


KENILWORTH. 


'39 


found it altogether unavailing, it is my purpose to 
embark for the Virginia voyage.” 

“ Be not so rash, good sir,” replied Giles Gos- 
ling ; “ and cast not yourself away because a woman 

— to be brief — is a woman, and changes her lovers 
like her suit of ribands, with no better reason than 
mere fantasy. And ere we probe this matter further, 
let me ask you what circumstances of suspicion 
directed you so truly to this lady’s residence, or 
rather to her place of concealment ? ” 

“ The last is the better chosen word, mine host,” 
answered Tressilian ; “ and touching your question, 
the knowledge that Varney held large grants of 
the demesnes formerly belonging to the Monks of 
Abingdon, directed me to this neighbourhood; and 
your nephew’s visit to his old comrade Foster, gave 
me the means of conviction on the subject.” 

“And what is now your purpose, worthy sir? 

— excuse my freedom in asking the question so 
broadly.” 

“ I purpose, mine host,” said Tressilian, “ to re- 
new my visit to the place of her residence to-mor- 
row, and to seek a more detailed communication 
with her than I have had to-day. She must indeed 
be widely changed from what . she once was, if my 
words make no impression upon her.” 

“Under your favour, Master Tressilian,” said the 
landlord, “ you can follow no such course. The 
lady, if I understand you, has already rejected your 
interference in the matter.” 

“It is but too true,” said Tressilian; “I cannot 
deny it.” 

“ Then, marry, by what right or interest do you 
process a compulsory interference with her incli- 
nation, disgraceful as it may be to herself and to her 


140 


TETTTLWORTH. 


parents ? Unless my judgment gulls me, those un- 
der whose protection she has thrown herself, would 
have small hesitation to reject your interference, 
even if it were that of a father or brother ; but as a 
discarded lover, you expose yourself to be repelled 
with the strong hand, as well as with scorn. You 
can apply to no magistrate for aid or countenance ; 
and you are hunting, therefore, a shadow in water, 
and will .only (excuse my plainness) come by duck- 
ing and danger in attempting to catch it.” 

“I will appeal to the Earl of Leicester,” said 
Tressilian, “ against the infamy of his favourite. — 
He courts the severe and strict sect of puritans — 
He dare not, for the sake of his own character, re- 
fuse my appeal, even although he were destitute 
of the principles of honour and nobleness with 
which fame invests him. Or I will appeal to the 
Queen herself.” 

“ Should Leicester,” said the landlord, “ be dis- 
posed to protect his dependent, (as indeed he is said 
to be very confidential with Varney,) the appeal to 
the Queen may bring them both to reason. Her 
majesty is strict in such matters, and (if it be not 
treason to speak it) will rather, it is said, pardon 
a dozen courtiers fpr falling in love with herself, 
than one for giving preference to another woman. 
Coragio then, my brave guest ! for if thou layest a 
petition from Sir Hugh at the foot of the throne, 
bucklered by the story of thine own wrongs, the 
favourite Earl dared as soon leap into the Thames 
at the fullest and deepest, as offer to protect Varney 
in a cause of this nature. But to do this with any 
chance of success, you must go formally to work ; 
and, without staying here to tilt with the master of 
horse to a privy councillor, and expose yourself to 


KENILWORTH. 


T41 

the dagger of his cameradoes, you should hie you to 
Devonshire, get a petition drawn up for Sir Hugh 
Robsart, and make as many friends as you can to 
forward your interest at court.” 

“You have spoken well, mine host,” said Tres- 
silian, “ and I will profit by your advice, and leave 
you to-morrow early.” 

“Nay, leave me to-night, sir, before to-morrow 
comes,” said the landlord. “ I never prayed for a 
guest’s arrival more eagerly than 1 do to have ^ou 
safely gone. My kinsman’s destiny is most like to 
be hanged for something, but I would not that the 
cause were the murder of an honoured guest of 
mine. ‘ Better ride safe in the dark,’ says the 
proverb, ‘than in daylight with a cut-throat at 
your elbow.’ Come, sir, I move you for your own 
safety. Your horse and all is ready, and here is 
your score.” 

“ It is somewhat under a noble,” said Tressilian, 
giving one to the host ; “ give the balance to pretty 
Cicely, your daughter, and the servants of the 
house.” 

“They shall taste of your' bounty, sir,” said Gos- 
ling, “and you should taste of my daughter’s lips 
in grateful acknowledgment, but at this hour she 
cannot grace the porch to greet your departure.” 

“ Do not trust your daughter too far with your 
guests, my good landlord,” said Tressilian. 

0, sir, we will keep measure ; but I wonder not 
that you are jealous of them all. — May I crave to 
know with what aspect the fair lady at the Place 
yesterday received you ? ” 

“ I own,” said Tressilian, “ it was angry as well 
as confused, and affords me little hope that she is 
yet awakened from her unhappy delusion.” 


142 


KENILWORTH. 


" In that case, sir, I see not why you should play 
the champion of a wench that will none of you, and 
incur the resentment of a favourite’s favourite, as 
dangerous a monster as ever a knight adventurer 
encountered in the old story books.” 

“ You do me wrong in the supposition, mine host 
— gross wrong,” said Tressilian ; “ I do not desire 
that Amy should ever turn thought upon me more. 
Le^rne but see her restored to her father, and all 
I have to do in Europe — perhaps in the world — is 
over and ended.” 

“ A wiser resolution were to drink a cup of sack, 
and forget her,” said the landlord. “ But five-and- 
twenty and fifty look on those matters with different 
eyes, especially when one case of peepers is set in 
the skull of a young gallant, and the other in that 
of an old publican. I pity you, Master Tressilian, 
but I see not how I can aid you in the matter.” 

“ Only thus far, mine host,” replied Tressilian — 
“ Keep a watch on the motions of those at the Place, 
which thou canst easily learn without suspicion, as 
all men’s news fly to the ale-bench ; and be pleased 
to communicate the tidings in writing to such 
person, and to no other, who shall bring you this 
ring as a special token — look at it — it is of value, 
and I will freely bestow it on you.” 

“ Nay, sir,” said the landlord, “ I desire no re- 
compense — but it seems an unadvised course in 
me, being in a public line, to connect myself in a 
matter of this dark and perilous nature. I have no 
interest in it.” 

“ You, and every father in the land, who would 
have his daughter released from the snares of shame, 
and sin, and misery, have an interest deeper than 
aught concerning earth only could create.*' 


KENILWORTH. 


143 


“ Well, sir,” said the host, “ these are brave words ; 
and I do pity from my soul the frank-hearted old 
gentleman, who has minished his estate in good 
house-keeping for the honour of his country, and 
now has his daughter, who should be the stay of 
his age, and so forth, whisked up by such a kite as 
this Varney. And though your part in the matter 
is somewhat of the wildest, yet I will e’en he a 
madcap for company, and help you in your honest 
attempt to get back the good man’s child, so far as 
being your faithful intelligencer can serve. And as 
I shall he true to you, I pray you to be trusty to me, 
and keep my secret ; for it were bad for the custom 
of the Black Bear, should it he said the bear- warder 
interfered in such matters. Varney has interest 
enough with the justices to dismount my noble em- 
blem from the post on which he swings so gallantly, 
to call in my license, and ruin me from garret to 
cellar.” 

“ Do not doubt my secrecy, mine host,” said 
Tressilian ; “ I will retain, besides, the deepest sense 
of thy service, and of the risk thou dost run — re- 
member the ring is my sure token. — And now, 
farewell — for it was thy wise advice that I should 
tarry here as short a time as may he.” 

“ Follow me, then, Sir Guest,” said the landlord, 
“ and tread as gently as if eggs were under your 
foot, instead of deal hoards. — No man must know 
when or how you departed.” 

By the aid of his dark lantern he conducted Tres- 
silian, as soon as he had made himself ready for his 
journey, through a long intricacy of passages, which 
opened to an outer court, and from thence to a 
remote stable, where he had already placed his 
guest’s horse. He then aided him to fasten on the 


144 


KENILWORTH. 


saddle the small portmantle which contained his 
necessaries, opened a postern-door, and with a hearty 
shake of the hand, and a reiteration of his promise 
to attend to what went on at Cumnor-Place, he 
dismissed his guest to his solitary journey. 






CHAPTER IX. 


Far in the lane a lonely hut he found, 

No tenant ventured on the unwholesome ground : 

Here smokes his forge, he bares his sinewy arm. 

And early strokes the sounding anvil warm ; 

Around his shop the steely sparkles flew, 

As for the steed he shaped the bending shoe. 

Gay’s Trivia. 

As it was deemed proper by the traveller him- 
self, as well as by Giles Gosling, that Tressilian 
should avoid being seen in the neighbourhood of 
Cumnor by those whom accident might make early 
risers, the landlord had given him a route, consist- 
ing of various byways and lanes, which he was to 
follow in succession, and which, all the turns and 
short-cuts duly observed, was to conduct him to the 
public road to Marlborough. 

But, like counsel of every other kind, this species 
of direction is much more easily given than fol- 
lowed ; and what betwixt the intricacy of the way, 
the darkness of the night, Tressilian’s ignorance of 
the country, and the sad and perplexing thoughts 
with which he had to contend, his journey proceeded 
so slowly, that morning found him only in the vale 
of Whitehorse, memorable for the defeat of the 
Danes in former days, with his horse deprived of a 
forefoot shoe, an accident which threatened to put a 
stop to his journey, by laming the animal. The 
residence of a smith was his first object of enquiry, 
in which he received little satisfaction from the 


146 


KENILWORTH. 


dulness or sullenness of one or two peasants, early 
bound for their labour, who gave brief and indiffer- 
ent answers to his questions on the subject. Anx- 
ious, at length, that the partner of his journey should 
suffer as little as possible from the unfortunate ac- 
cident, Tressilian dismounted, and led his horse in 
the direction of a little hamlet, where he hoped 
either to find or hear tidings of such an artificer as 
he now wanted. Through a deep and muddy lane, 
he at length waded on to the place, which proved 
only an assemblage of five or six miserable huts, 
about the doors of which one or two persons, whose 
appearance seemed as rude as that of their dwell- 
ings, were beginning the toils of the day. One 
cottage, however, seemed of rather superior aspect, 
and the old dame, who was sweeping her threshold, 
appeared something less rude than her neighbours. 
To her Tressilian addressed the oft-repeated ques- 
tion, whether there was a smith in this neighbour- 
hood, or any place where he could refresh his horse ? 
The dame looked him in the face with a peculiar 
expression, as she replied, “ Smith ! ay, truly is there 
a smith — what wouldst ha’ wi’ un, mon ? ” 

“To shoe my horse, good dame,” answered Tres- 
silian ; “ you may see that he has thrown a fore- 
foot shoe.” 

“ Master Holiday ! ” exclaimed the dame, with- 
out returning any direct answer — “Master Heras- 
mus Holiday, come and speak to mon, and please 
you.” 

“ Favete linguist answered a voice from within ; 
** I cannot now come forth, Gammer Sludge, being 
in the very sweetest bit of my morning studies.” 

“ Nay, but, good now, Master Holiday, come ye 
out, do ye — Here’s a mon would to Way land Smith, 


KENILWORTH. 


>47 


and I care not to show him way to devil — his horse 
hath cast shoe.” 

“ Quid mihi cum caballo ? ” replied the man o£ 
learning from within; “I think there is but one 
wise man in the hundred, and they cannot shoe a 
horse without him !” 

And forth came the honest pedagogue, for such 
his dress bespoke him. A long, lean, shambling, 
stooping figure, was surmounted by a head thatched 
with lank black hair somewhat inclining to grey. 
His features had the cast of habitual authority, 
which I suppose Dionysius carried with him from 
the throne to the schoolmaster’s pulpit, and be- 
queathed as a legacy to all of the same profession. 
A black buckram cassock was gathered at his middle 
with a belt, at which hung, instead of knife or weapon, 
a goodly leathern pen-and-ink-case. His ferula was 
stuck on the other side, like Harlequin’s wooden 
sword ; and he carried in his hand the tattered 
volume which he had been busily perusing. 

On seeing a person of Tressilian’s appearance, 
which he was better able to estimate than the coun- 
try folks had been, the schoolmaster unbonneted, 
and accosted him with, “ Salve , ddmine. Intelligisne 
linguam Latinam ? ” 

Tressilian mustered his learning to reply, “ Lin- 
gnce Latince haud penitus ignarus, venia tua , domine 
eruditissime, vernaculam libentius loquor” 

The Latin reply had upon the schoolmaster the 
effect which the mason’s sign is said to produce on 
the brethren of the trowel. He was at once inter- 
ested in the learned traveller, listened with gravity 
to his story of a tired horse and a lost shoe, and then 
replied with solemnity, “ It may appear a simple ’ 
thing, most worshipful, to reply to you that there 


148 


KENILWORTH. 


dwells, within a brief mile of these tuguria i the best 
/ 'aber ferrarius, the most accomplished blacksmith, 
that ever nailed iron upon horse. Now, were I to 
say so, I warrant me you would think yourself com- 
pos voti , or, as the vulgar have it, a made man.” 

“I should at least,” said Tressilian, “have a 
direct answer to a plain question, which seems 
difficult to be obtained in this country.” 

“ It is a mere sending of a sinful soul to the evil 
un,” said the old woman, “ the sending a living 
creature to Wayland Smith.” 

“ Peace, Gammer Sludge ! ” said the pedagogue ; 
“ pauca verba, Gammer Sludge ; look to the furmity, 
Gammer Sludge ; curetur jentaculum, Gammer 
Sludge ; this gentleman is none of thy gossips.” 
Then turning to Tressilian, he resumed his lofty 
tone, “ And so, most worshipful, you would really 
think yourself felix bis terque , should I point out to 
you the dwelling of this same smith ? ” 

“ Sir,” replied Tressilian, “ I should in that case 
have all that I want at present — a horse fit to carry 
me forward — out of hearing of your learning.” The 
last words he muttered to himself. 

“ 0 caeca mens mortalium ! ” said the learned man ; 
“ well was it sung by Junius Juvenalis, * numinibus 
vota exaudita malignis ! ’ ” 

“ Learned Magister,” said Tressilian, “ your eru- 
dition so greatly exceeds my poor intellectual ca- 
pacity, that you must excuse my seeking elsewhere 
for information which I can better understand.” 

“ There again now,” replied the pedagogue, “ how 
fondly you fly from him that would instruct you ! 

Truly said Quintilian ” 

“I pray, sir, let Quintilian be for the present, 
and answer, in a word and in English, if your learn- 


KENILWORTH. 


*49 

ing can condescend so far, whether there is any 
place here where I can have opportunity to refresh 
my horse, until I can have him shod ? ” 

“ Thus much courtesy, sir,” said the schoolmas- 
ter, “ I can readily render you, that although there 
is in this poor hamlet ( nostra paupera regno), no 
regular hospitium , as my namesake Erasmus ealleth 
it, yet, forasmuch as you are somewhat embued, or 
at least tinged as it were, with good letters, I will 
use my interest with the good woman of the house 
to accommodate you with a platter of furmity — an 
wholesome food for which I have found no Latin 
phrase — your horse shall have a share of the cow- 
house, with a bottle of sweet hay, in which the good 
woman Sludge so much abounds, that it may be said 
of her cow, fcenum habet in cornu ; and if it please 
you to bestow on me the pleasure of your company, 
the banquet shall cost you ne semissem quidem, so 
much is Gammer Sludge bound to me for the pains 
I have bestowed on the top and bottom of her hope- 
ful heir Dickie, whom I have painfully made to 
travel through the accidence.” 

“Now, God yield ye for it, Master Herasmus,” 
said the good Gammer, “ and grant that little Dickie 
may be the better for his accident ! — and for the 
rest, if the gentleman list to stay, breakfast shall be 
on the board in the wringing of a dishclout ; and 
for horse-meat, and man’s meat, I bear no such base 
mind as to ask a penny.” 

Considering the state of his horse, Tressilian, upon 
the whole, saw no better course than to accept the 
invitation thus learnedly made and hospitably con- 
firmed, and take chance that when the good peda- 
gogue had exhausted every topic of conversation, 
he might possibly condescend to tell him where he 


150 


KENILWORTH. 


could find the smith they spoke of. He entered 
the hut accordingly, and sat down with the learned 
Magister Erasmus Holiday, partook of his furmity, 
and listened to his learned account of himself for a 
good half hour, ere he could get him to talk upon 
any other topic. The reader will readily excuse 
our accompanying this man of learning into all the 
details with which he favoured Tressilian, of which 
the following sketch may suffice. 

He was born at Hogsnorton, where, according to 
popular saying, the pigs play upon the organ ; a pro- 
verb which he interpreted allegorically, as having 
reference to the herd of Epicurus, of which litter 
Horace confessed himself a porker. His name of 
Erasmus, he derived partly from his father having 
been the son of a renowned washerwoman, who had 
held that great scholar in clean linen all the while 
he was at Oxford ; a task of some difficulty, as he 
was only possessed of two shirts, “ the one,” as she 
expressed herself, “ to wash the other.” The ves- 
tiges of one of these camicioe, as Master Holiday 
boasted, were still in his possession, having fortu- 
nately been detained by his grandmother to cover 
the balance of her bill. But he thought there was 
a still higher and overruling cause for his having 
had the name of Erasmus conferred on him, namely, 
the secret presentiment of his mother’s mind, that, 
in the babe to be christened, was a hidden genius, 
which should one day lead him to rival the fame of 
the great scholar of Amsterdam. The schoolmas- 
ter’s surname led him as far into dissertation as his 
Christian appellative. He was inclined to think 
that he bore the name of Holiday quasi lucus a non 
lucendo, because he gave such few holidays to his 
school. “ Hence,” said he, “ the schoolmaster is 


KENILWORTH. 


i5l 

termed, classically, Ludi Magister , because he de- 
prives boys of their play.” And yet, on the other 
hand, he thought it might bear a very different 
interpretation, and refer to his own exquisite art in 
arranging pageants, morris-dances, May-day festi- 
vities, and such like holiday delights, for which he 
assured Tressilian he had positively the purest and 
the most inventive brain in England ; insomuch, that 
his cunning in framing such pleasures had made him 
known to many honourable persons, both in country 
and court, and especially to the noble Earl of Lei- 
cester — “ And although he may now seem to forget 
me,” he said, “ in the multitude of state affairs, yet 
I am well assured, that had he some pretty pastime 
to array for entertainment of the Queen’s Grace, 
horse and man would be seeking the humble cottage 
of Erasmus Holiday. Parvo contentus , in the mean- 
while, I hear my pupils parse, and construe, wor- 
shipful sir, and drive away my time with the aid 
of the Muses. And I have at all times, when in 
correspondence with foreign scholars, subscribed 
myself Erasmus ab Die Fausto, and have enjoyed 
the distinction due to the learned under that title ; 
witness the erudite Diedrichus Buckerschockius, 
who dedicated to me under that title his treatise on 
the letter Tau. In fine, sir, I have been a happy 
and distinguished man.” 

“ Long may it be so, sir ! ” said the traveller ; “ but 
permit me to ask, in your own learned phrase, Quid 
hoc ad Iphycli loves, (0) what has all this to do with 
the shoeing of my poor nag ? ” 

“ Festina lente ,” said the man of learning, “we 
will presently come to that point.- You must know 
that some two or three years past, there came to 
these parts one who called himself Doctor Doboobie, 


*$2 


KENILWORTH. 


although it may he he never wrote even Magister 
artium , save in right of his hungry belly. Or it 
may be, that if he had any degrees, they were of 
the devil’s giving, for he was what the vulgar call 
a white witch — a cunning man, and such like. — 
Now, good sir, I perceive you are impatient; but 
if a man tell not his tale his own way, how have 
you warrant to think that he can tell it in yours ? ” 

“ Well, then, learned sir, take your way,” an- 
swered Tressilian ; “ only let us travel at a sharper 
pace, for my time is somewhat of the shortest.” 

“ Well, sir,” resumed Erasmus Holiday, with the 
most provoking perseverance, “ I will not say that 
this same Demetrius, for so he wrote himself when 
in foreign parts, was an actual conjurer, but certain 
it is, that he professed to be a brother of the mys- 
tical Order of the Rosy Cross, a disciple of Geber 
(ex nomine cujus renit rerbum vernaculum , gibberish.) 
He cured wounds by salving the weapon instead of 
the sore — told fortunes by palmistry — discovered 
stolen goods by the sieve and shears — gathered the 
right maddow and the male fern seed, through 
use of which men walk invisible — pretended some 
advances towards the panacea, or universal elixir, 
and affected to convert good lead into sorry silver.” 

“In other words,” said Tressilian, “he was a 
quacksalver and common cheat; but what has all 
this to do with my nag, and the shoe which he has 
lost?” 

“With your worshipful patience,” replied the 
diffusive man of letters, “ you shall understand that 
presently — patientia then, right worshipful, which 
word, according to our Marcus Tullius, is. ‘ diffici- 
lium rerum diurna perpessio’ This same Demetrius 
Doboobie, after dealing with the country, as I have 


KENILWORTH. 


153 


told you, began to acquire fame inter magnates, 
among the prime men of the land, and there is like- 
lihood he might have aspired to great matters, had 
not, according to vulgar fame, (for I aver not the 
thing as according with my certain knowledge,) the 
devil claimed his right, one dark night, and flown 
off with Demetrius, who was never seen or heard 
of afterwards. Now here comes the medulla , the 
very marrow, of my tale. This Doctor Doboobie 
had a servant, a poor snake, whom he employed in 
trimming his furnace, regulating it by just measure 
— compounding his drugs — tracing his circles — 
cajoling his patients, et sic de cceteris. — Well, right 
worshipful, the Doctor being removed thus strangely, 
and in a way which struck the whole country 
with terror, this poor Zany thinks to himself, in the 
words of Maro, ‘ Uno avulso, non deficit alter ; * and, 
even as a tradesman’s apprentice sets himself up in 
his master’s shop when he is dead, or hath retired 
from business, so doth this Wayland assume the 
dangerous trade of his defunct master. But al- 
though, most worshipful sir, the world is ever prone 
to listen to the pretensions of such unworthy men, 
who are, indeed, mere saltim banqui and charlatani y 
though usurping the style and skill of doctors of 
medicine, yet the pretensions of this poor Zany, 
this Wayland, (p) were too gross to pass on them, 
nor was there a mere rustic, a villager, who was not 
ready to accost him in the sense of Persius, though 
in their own rugged words, — 

‘ Diluis helleborum, certo compescere puncto 

Nescius examen 1 vetat hoc natura medendi ; * 

which I have thus rendered in a poor paraphrase of 
mine own, — 


f 54 


KENILWORTH. 


Wilt thou mix hellebore, who cloth not know 
How many grains should to the mixture go? 

The art of medicine this forbids, I trow. 

Moreover, the evil reputation of the master, and his 
strange and doubtful end, or at least sudden dis- 
appearance, prevented any, excepting the most des- 
perate of men, to seek any advice or opinion from 
the servant ; wherefore, the poor vermin was likely 
at first to swarf for very hunger. But the devil 
that serves him, since the death of Demetrius or 
Doboobie, put him on a fresh device. This knave, 
whether from the inspiration of the devil, or from 
early education, shoes horses better than e’er a man 
betwixt us and Iceland ; and so he gives up his 
practice on the bipeds, the two-legged and unfledged 
species called mankind, and betakes him entirely to 
shoeing of horses.” 

“ Indeed ! and where does he lodge all this time ? ” 
said Tressilian. “And does he shoe horses well? 
— show me his dwelling presently.” 

The interruption pleased not the Magister, who 
exclaimed, “ 0, caeca mens mortalium! though, by 
the way, I used that quotation before. But I would 
the classics could afford me any sentiment of power 
to stop those who are so willing to rush upon their 
own destruction. Hear but, I pray you, the con- 
ditions of this man,” said he, in continuation, “ ere 
you are so willing to place yourself within his 
danger ” 

“ A’ takes no money for a’s work,” said the dame, 
who stood by, enraptured as it were with the fine 
words and learned apophthegms which glided so 
fluently from her erudite inmate, Master Holiday. 
But this interruption pleased not the Magister, more 
than that of the traveller. 


KENILWORTH. 


*55 


** Peace,” said he, “ Gammer Sludge ; know your 
place, if it be your will. Sujflamina, Gammer 
Sludge, and allow me to expound this matter to 
our worshipful guest. — Sir,” said he, again address- 
ing Tressilian, f< this old woman speaks true, though 
in her own rude style ; for certainly this faber fer- 
rarius, or blacksmith, takes money of no one.” 

“ And that is a sure sign he deals with Satan,” 
said Dame Sludge ; “ since no good Christian would 
ever refuse the wages of his labour.” 

“ The old woman hath touched it again,” said the 
pedagogue ; “ rem acu tetigit — she hath pricked it 
with her needle’s point. — This Wayland takes no 
money, indeed, nor doth he show himself to any 
one.” 

“ And can this madman, for such I hold him,” said 
the traveller, “know aught like good skill of his 
trade ? ” 

“ O, sir, in that let us give the devil his due — - 
Mulciber himself, with all his Cyclops, could hardly 
amend him. But assuredly there is little wis- 
dom in taking counsel or receiving aid from one, 
who is but too plainly in league with the author of 
evil.” 

“ I must take my chance of that, good Master 
Holiday,” said Tressilian, rising ; “ and as my horse 
must now have eaten his provender, I must needs 
thank you for your good cheer, and pray you to show 
me this man’s residence, that I may have the means 
of proceeding on my journey.” 

“Ay, ay, do ye show him, Master Herasmus,” 
said the old dame, who was, perhaps, desirous to 
get her house freed of her guest ; “ a’ must needs 
go when the devil drives.” 

“ Do manus ” said the Magister, “ I submit — 


KENILWORTH. 


156 

taking the world to witness, that I have possessed 
this honourable gentleman with the full injustice 
which he has done and shall do to his own soul, if 
he becomes thus a trinketer with Satan. Neither 
will I go forth with our guest myself, but rather 
send my pupil. — Ricarde! Adsis, nebulo .” 

“ Under your favour, not so,” answered the old 
woman ; “ you may peril your own soul, if you 
list, but my son shall budge on no such errand ; 
# and I wonder at you, Domine Doctor, to propose 
such a piece of service for little Dickie.” 

“ Nay, my good Gammer Sludge,” answered the 
preceptor, “ Ricardus shall go but to the top of the 
hill, and indicate with his digit to the stranger the 
dwelling of Wayland Smith. Believe not that any 
evil can come to him, he having read this morning, 
fasting, a chapter of the Septuagint, and, moreover, 
having had his lesson in the Greek Testament.” 

“ Ay,” said his mother, “ and I have sewn a sprig 
of witch’s elm in the neck of un’s doublet, ever since 
that foul thief has begun his practices on man and 
beast in these parts.” 

“And as he goes oft (as I hugely suspect) to- 
wards this conjurer for his own pastime, he may 
for once go thither, or near it, to pleasure us, and 
to assist this stranger. — Ergo , heus, Ricarde! adsis , 
quceso, mi didascule” 

The pupil, thus affectionately invoked, at length 
came stumbling into the room ; a queer, shambling, 
ill -made urchin, who, by his stunted growth, seemed 
about twelve or thirteen years old, though he was 
probably, in reality, a year or two older, with a car- 
roty pate in huge disorder, a freckled sunburnt vis- 
age, with a snub nose, a long chin, and two peery 
grey eyes, which had a droll obliquity of vision, 


KENILWORTH. 


approaching to a squint, though perhaps not a de- 
cided one. It was impossible to look at the little 
man without some disposition to laugh, especially 
when Gammer Sludge, seizing upon and kissing 
him, in spite of his struggling and kicking in reply 
to her caresses, termed him her own precious pearl 
of beauty. 

“ Ricarde” said the preceptor, “you must forth- 
with (which is profecto) set forth so far as the top 
of the hill, and show this man of worship Wayland ' 
Smith’s workshop.” 

“A proper errand of a morning,” said the hoy, 
in better language than Tressilian expected; “and 
who knows but the devil may fly away with me 
before I come back ? ” 

“ Ay, marry may un,” said Dame Sludge, “ and 
you might have thought twice, Master Domine, ere 
you sent my dainty darling on arrow such errand. 

It is not for such doings I feed your belly and clothe 
your back, I warrant you ! ” 

“ Pshaw — nugoe, good Gammer Sludge,” an- 
swered the preceptor ; “ I ensure you that Satan, if 
there be Satan in the case, shall not touch a thread 
of his garment ; for Dickie can say his pater with 
the best, and may defy the foul fiend — Rumenides, 
Stygiumque nefas.” 

“ Ay, and I, as I said before, have sewed a sprig 
of the mountain-ash into his collar,” said the good 
woman, “which will avail more than your clerk- 
ship, I wus ; but for all that, it is ill to seek the 
devil or his mates either.” 

“My good boy,” said Tressilian, who saw, from 
a grotesque sneer on Dickie’s face, that he was more 
likely to act upon his own bottom than by the in- 
struction of his elders, “I will give thee a silver 


158 


KENILWORTH. 


groat, my pretty fellow, if you will but guide me 
to this man’s forge.” 

The boy gave him a knowing side-look, which 
seemed to promise acquiescence, while at the same 
time he exclaimed, “ I be your guide to Way land 
Smith’s ! Why, man, did I not say that the devil 
might fly off with me, just as the kite there ” (looking 
to the window) “ is flying off with one of grandam’s 
chicks ? ” 

“ The kite ! the kite ! ” exclaimed the old woman 
in return, and forgetting all other matters in her 
alarm, hastened to the rescue of her chicken as fast 
as her old legs could carry her. 

“ Now for it,” said the urchin to Tressilian ; 
“ snatch your beaver, get out your horse, and have 
at the silver groat you spoke of.” 

“ Nay, but tarry, tarry,” said the preceptor, 
“ Sufflamina, Ricarde ! ” 

“ Tarry yourself,” said Dickie, “ and think what 
answer you are to make to granny for sending me 
post to the devil.” 

The teacher, aware of the responsibility he was 
incurring, bustled up in great haste to lay hold of 
the urchin, and to prevent his departure ; but Dickie 
slipped through his fingers, bolted from the cottage, 
and sped him to the top of a neighbouring rising 
ground; while the preceptor, despairing, by well- 
taught experience, of recovering his pupil by speed 
of foot, had recourse to the most honied epithets 
the Latin vocabulary affords, to persuade his return. 
But to mi anime, corculum meum, and all such clas- 
sical endearments, the truant turned a deaf ear, and 
kept frisking on the top of the rising ground like 
a goblin by moonlight, making signs to his new 
acquaintance, Tressilian, to follow him. 


KENILWORTH. 


159 


The traveller lost no time in getting out his horse, 
and departing to join his elvish guide, after half- 
forcing on the poor deserted teacher a recompense 
for the entertainment he had received, which partly 
allayed the terror he had for facing the return of 
the old lady of the mansion. Apparently this took 
place soon afterwards; for ere Tressilian and his 
guide had proceeded far on their journey, they heard 
the screams of a cracked female voice, intermingled 
with the classical objurgations of Master Erasmus 
Holiday. But Dickie Sludge, equally deaf to the 
voice of maternal tenderness and of magisterial au- 
thority, skipped on unconsciously before Tressilian, 
only observing, that “ if they cried themselves hoarse, 
they might go lick the honey-pot, for he had eaten 
up all the honey-comb himself on yesterday even.” 


/ 



v, 


CHAPTER X. 


There entering in, they found the goodman selfe 
Full busylie unto his work ybent, 

Who was to weet a wretched wearish elf, 

With hollow eyes and rawbone cheeks forspent, 

As if he had been long in prison pent. 

The Faery Queene. 

“ Are we far from the dwelling of this smith, my 
pretty lad ? ” said Tressilian to his young guide. 

“ How is it you call me ? ” said the boy, looking 
askew at him with his sharp grey eyes. 

“ I call you my pretty lad — is there any offence 
in that, my boy ? ” 

“ No — but were you with my grandam and 
Dominie Holiday, you might sing chorus to the old 
song of 

‘We three 
Tom-fools be.’ 

“ And why so, my little man ? ” said Tressilian. 

“Because,” answered the ugly urchin, “you are 
the only three ever called me pretty lad — Now my 
grandam does it because she is parcel blind by age, 
and whole blind by kindred — and my master, the 
poor Dominie, does it to curry favour, and have the 
fullest platter of furmity, and the warmest seat by 
the fire. But what you call me pretty lad for, you 
know best yourself.” 

“Thou art a sharp wag at least, if not a pretty 
one. But what do thy playfellows call thee X ” 


KENILWORTH. 


161 


* Hobgoblin,” answered the boy, readily; “but 
for all that, I would rather have my own ugly viz- 
nomy than any of their jolterheads, that have no 
more brains in them than a brick-bat.” 

“Then you fear not this smith, whom you are 
going to see ? ” 

“ Me fear him ! ” answered the boy ; “ if he were 
the devil folk think him, I would not fear him ; but 
though there is something queer about him, he’s no 
more a devil than you are, and that’s what I would 
not tell to every one.” 

“ And why do you tell it to me, then, my boy ? ” 
said Tressilian. 

“ Because you are another guess gentleman than 
those we see here every day,” replied Dickie ; “ and 
though I am as ugly as sin, I would not have you 
think me an ass, especially as I may have a boon to 
ask of you one day.” 

“And what is that, my lad, whom I must not 
call pretty ? ” replied Tressilian. 

“ 0, if I were to ask it just now,” said the boy, 
“ you would deny it me — but I will wait till we 
meet at court.” 

“ At court, Richard ! are you bound for court ? " 
said Tressilian. 

“Ay, ay, that’s just like the rest of them,” re- 
plied the boy ; “ I warrant me you think, what 
should such an ill-favoured, scrambling urchin do at 
court ? But let Richard Sludge alone ; I have not 
been cock of the roost here for nothing. I will 
make sharp wit mend foul feature.” 

“ But what will your grandam say, and your tutor, 
Dominie Holiday ? ” 

“ E’en what they like,” replied Dickie ; “ the one 
has her chickens to reckon, and the other has his 


r62 


KENILWORTH. 


boys to whip. I would have given them the candle 
to hold long since, and shown this trumpery hamlet 
a fair pair of heels, but that Dominie promises I 
should go with him to bear share in the next 
pageant he is to set forth, and they say there are 
to be great revels shortly.” 

“ And whereabout are they to be held, my little 
friend ? ” said Tressilian. 

“ O, at some castle far in the north,” answered 
his guide — “a world’s breadth from Berkshire. But 
our old Dominie holds that they cannot go forward 
without him ; and it may be he is right, for he has 
put in order many a fair pageant. He is not half 
the fool you would take him for, when he gets to 
work he understands ; and so he can spout verses 
like a play-actor, when, God* wot, if you set him to 
steal a goose’s egg, he would be drubbed by the 
gander.” 

“ And you are to play a part in his next show ? ” 
said Tressilian, somewhat interested by the boy’s 
boldness of conversation, and shrewd estimate of 
character. 

“ In faith,” said Richard Sludge, in answer, “ he 
hath so promised me ; and if he break his word, it 
will be the worse for him ; for let me take the bit 
between my teeth, and turn my head down hill, and 
I will shake him off with a fall that may harm his 
bones — And I should not like much to hurt him 
neither,” said he, “ for the tiresome old fool has 
painfully laboured to teach me all he could. — But 
enough of that — here we are at Wayland Smith’s 
forge,-door.” 

“ You jest, my little friend,” said Tressilian ; “ here 
is nothing but a bare moor, and that ring of stones, 
with a great one in the midst, like a Cornish barrow,’ 


KENILWORTH. 


163 

* Ay, and that great flat stone in the midst, which 
lies across the top of these uprights,” said the boy, 
“is Way land Smith’s counter, that you must tell 
down your money upon.” 

“ What do you mean by such folly ? ” said the 
traveller, beginning to be angry with the boy, and 
vexed with himself for having trusted such a hare- 
brained guide. 

“ Why,” said Dickie, with a grin, “ you must 
tie your horse to that upright stone that has the 
ring in’t, and then you must whistle three times, 
and lay me down your silver groat on that other 
flat stone, walk out of the circle, sit down on the 
west, side of that little thicket of hushes, and take 
heed you look neither to right nor to left for ten 
minutes, or so long as you shall hear the hammer 
clink, and whenever it ceases, say your prayers for 
the space you could tell a hundred, or count over a 
hundred, which will do as well, — and then come) 
into the circle ; you will find your money gone and 
your horse shod.” 

“ My money gone to a certainty ! ” said Tressilian ; 

“ but as for the rest — Hark ye, my lad, I am not 
your schoolmaster ; but if you play off your waggery 
on me, I will take a part of his task off his hands, * 
and punish you to purpose.” 

“ Ay, when you can catch me ! ” said the boy ; 
and presently took to his heels across the heath, 
with a velocity which baffled every attempt of Tres- 
silian to overtake him. loaded as he was with his 
heavy boots. Nor was it the least provoking part 
of the urchin’s conduct, that he did not exert his 
utmost speed, like one who finds himself in danger 
or who is frightened, but preserved just such a rate 
as to encourage Tressilian to continue the chase, and 


KENILWORTH. 


164 

then darted away from him with the swiftness of 
the wind, when his pursuer supposed he had nearly 
run him down, doubling at the same time, and 
winding, so as always to keep near the place from 
which he started. 

This lasted until Tressilian, from very weariness, 
stood still, and was about to abandon the pursuit 
with a hearty curse on the ill-favoured urchin, who 
had engaged him in an exercise so ridiculous. But 
the boy, who had, as formerly, planted himself on 
the top of a hillock close in front, began to clap his 
long thin hands, point with his skinny fingers, and 
twist his wild and ugly features into such an extra- 
vagant expression of laughter and derision, that 
Tressilian began half to doubt whether he had not 
in view an actual hobgoblin. 

Provoked extremely, yet at the same time feel- 
ing an irresistible desire to laugh, so very odd were 
the boy’s grimaces and gesticulations, the Cornish 
man returned to his horse, and mounted him with 
the purpose of pursuing Dickie at more advantage. 

The boy no sooner saw him mount his horse, than 
he hollo’d out to him, that rather than he should 
spoil his white-footed nag, he would come to him, 
on condition he would keep his fingers to himself. 

“ I will make no conditions with thee, thou ugly 
varlet ! ” said Tressilian ; “ I will have thee at my 
mercy in a moment.” 

“ Aha, Master Traveller,” said the boy, “ there 
is a marsh hard by would swallow all the horses of 
the Queen’s Guard — I will into it, and see where 
you will go then. — You shall hear the bittern bump, 
and the wild-drake quack, ere you get hold of me 
without my consent, I promise you.” 

Tressilian looked out, and, from the appearance 


KENILWORTH. 


165 

of the ground behind the hillock, believed it might 
be as the boy said, and accordingly determined to 
strike up a peace with so light-footed and ready- 
witted an enemy — “ Come down,” he said, “ thou 
mischievous brat J — Leave thy mopping and mow- 
ing, and come hither ; I will do thee no harm, as I 
am a gentleman.” 

The boy answered his invitation with the utmost 
confidence, and danced down from his stance with 
a galliard sort of step, keeping his eye at the same 
time fixed on Tressilian’s, who, once more dismounted, 
stood with his horse’s bridle in his hand, breathless, 
and half exhausted with his fruitless exercise, 
though not one drop of moisture appeared on the 
freckled forehead of the urchin, which looked like 
a piece of dry and discoloured parchment, drawn 
tight across the brow of a fleshless skull. 

“ And tell me,” said Tressilian, “ why you use me 
thus, thou mischievous imp ? or what your meaning 
is by telling me so absurd a legend as you wished 
but now to put on me ? Or rather show me, in 
good earnest, this smith’s forge, and I will give 
thee what will buy thee apples through the whole 
winter.” 

“Were you to give me an orchard of apples,” said 
Dickie Sludge, “ I can guide thee no better than I 
have done. Lay down the silver token on the flat 
stone — whistle three times — then come sit down 
on the western side of the thicket of gorse ; I will sit 
by you, and give you free leave to wring my head off, 
unless you hear the smith at work within two min- 
utes after we are seated.” 

“ I may be tempted to take thee at thy word,” said 
Tressilian, “ if you make me do aught half so ridic- 
ulous for your own mischievous sport — however, I 


1 66 


KENILWORTH. 


will prove your spell. — Here, then, I tie my horse 
to this upright stone — I must lay my silver groat 
here, and whistle three times, sayst thou ? ” 

1 “Ay, but thou must whistle louder than an un- 
fledged ousel,” said the boy, as Tressilian, having 
laid down his money, and half ashamed of the folly 
he practised, made a careless whistle — “ You must 
whistle louder than that, for who knows where the 
smith is that you call for ? — He may be in the King 
of France’s stables for what I know.” 

“ Why, you said but now he was no devil,” replied 
Tressilian. 

“ Man or devil,” said Dickie, “ I see that I must 
summon him for you ; ” and therewithal he whistled 
sharp and shrill, with an acuteness of sound that 
almost thrilled through Tressilian*s brain — “ That 
is what I call whistling,” said he, after he had re- 
peated the signal thrice ; “ and now to cover, to 
cover, or Whitefoot will not be shod this day.” 

Tressilian, musing what the upshot of this mum- 
mery was to be, yet satisfied there was to be some 
serious result, by the confidence with which the boy 
had put himself in his power, suffered himself to be 
conducted to that side of the little thicket of gorse 
and brushwood which was farthest from the circle 
of stones, and there sat down : and as it occurred to 
him that, after all, this might be a trick for stealing 
his horse, he kept his hand on the boy’s collar, deter- 
mined to make him hostage for its safety. 

“Now, hush and listen,” said Dickie, in a low 
whisper ; “ you will soon hear the tack of a hammer 
that was never forged of earthly iron, for the stone 
it was made of was shot from the moon.” And in 
effect Tressilian did immediately hear the light 
stroke of a hammer, as when a farrier is at work. 


KENILWORTH. 


167 

The singularity of such a sound, in so very lonely a 
place, made him involuntarily start ; but looking at 
the boy, and discovering, by the arch malicious ex- 
pression of his countenance, that the urchin saw and 
enjoyed his light tremor, he became convinced that 
the whole was a concerted stratagem, and deter- 
mined to know by whom, or for what purpose, the 
trick was played off. 

Accordingly, he remained perfectly quiet all the 
time that the hammer continued to sound, being 
about the space usually employed in fixing a horse- 
shoe. But the instant the sound ceased, Tressilian, 
instead of interposing the space of time which his 
guide had required, started up with his sword in his 
hand, ran round the thicket, and confronted a man 
in a farrier’s leathern apron, but otherwise fantas- 
tically attired in a bear-skin dressed with the fur on, 
and a cap of the same, which almost hid the sooty 
and begrimed features of the wearer — “ Come back, 
come back ! 0 cried the boy to Tressilian, “ or you 
will be torn to pieces — no man lives that looks 
on him.” — In fact, the invisible smith (now fully 
visible) heaved up his hammer, and showed symp- 
toms of doing battle. 

But when the boy observed that neither his own 
entreaties, nor the menaces of the farrier, appeared 
to change Tressilian’s purpose, but that, on the con- 
trary, he confronted the hammer with his drawn 
sword, he exclaimed to the smith in turn, “ Way- 
land, touch him not, or you will come by the worse ! 
— the gentleman is a true gentleman, and a bold.” 

“ So thou hast betrayed me, Flibbertigibbet ? ” said 
the smith ; “ it shall be the worse for thee ! ” 

“ Be who thou wilt,” said Tressilian, “ thou art in 
no danger from me, so thou tell me the meaning of 


1 68 


KENILWORTH. 


this practice, and why thou drivest thy trade in this 

mysterious fashion.” 

The smith, however, turning to Tressilian, ex- 
claimed, in a threatening tone, “ Who questions the 
Keeper of the Crystal Castle of Light, the Lord of 
the Green Lion, the Rider of the Red Dragon ? — 
Hence ! — avoid thee, ere I summon Talpack with 
his fiery lance, to quell, crush, and consume ! ” These 
words he uttered with violent gesticulation, mouth- 
ing and flourishing his hammer. 

“ Peace, thou vile cozener, with thy gipsy cant ! ” 
replied Tressilian, scornfully, “ and follow me to the 
next magistrate, or I will cut thee over the pate.” 

“ Peace, I pray thee, good Way land ! ” said the boy ; 
“ credit me, the swaggering vein will not pass here ; 
you must cut boon whids.” 1 

“ I think, worshipful sir,” said the smith, sinking 
his hammer, and assuming a more gentle and sub- 
missive tone of voice, “ that when so poor a man 
does his day’s job, he might be permitted to work it 
out after his own fashion. Your horse is shod, and 
your farrier paid — What need you cumber yourself 
further, than to mount and pursue your journey? ” 

“ Hay, friend, you are mistaken,” replied Tres- 
silian ; “ every man has a right to take the mask 
from the face of a cheat and a juggler ; and your 
mode of living raises suspicion that you are both.” 

“ If you are so determined, sir,” said the smith/* I 
cannot help myself save by force, which I were un- 
willing to use towards you, Master Tressilian ; not 
that I fear your weapon, but because I know you to 
be a worthy, kind, and well-accomplished gentleman, 
who would rather help than harm a poor man that 
is in a strait.” 

1 “ Give good words.”— Slang dialect. 


KENILWORTH. 


169 

“ Well said, Wayland said the boy, who had anx- 
iously awaited the issue of their conference. “ But 
let us to thy den, man, for it is ill for thy health to 
stand here talking in the open air.” 

“ Thou art right, Hobgoblin,” replied the smith ; 
and going to the little thicket of gorse on the side 
nearest to the circle, and opposite to that at which 
his customer had so lately couched, he discovered 
a trap-door curiously covered with bushes, raised it, 
and, descending into the earth, vanished from their 
eyes. Notwithstanding Tressilian’s curiosity, he had 
some hesitation at following the fellow into what 
might be a den of robbers, especially when he heard 
the smith’s voice, issuing from the bowels of the 
earth, call out, “ Fibbertigibbet, do you come last, 
and be sure to fasten the trap 1 ” 

“ Have you seen enough of Wayland Smith 
now ? ” whispered the urchin to Tressilian, with 
an arch sneer, as if marking his companion’s un- 
certainty. 

“Not yet, ” said Tressilian, firmly; and shaking 
off his momentary irresolution, he descended into 
the narrow staircase, to which the entrance led, and 
was followed by Dickie Sludge, who made fast the 
trap-door behind him, and thus excluded every glim- 
mer of daylight. The descent, however, was only a 
few steps, and led to a level passage of a few yards’ 
length, at the end of which appeared the reflection 
of a lurid and red light. Arrived at this point, with 
his drawn sword in his hand, Tressilian found that 
a turn to the left admitted him and Hobgoblin, 
who followed closely, into a small square vault, con- 
taining a smith’s forge, glowing with charcoal, the 
vapour of which filled the apartment with an op- 
pressive smell, which would have been altogether 


KENILWORTH. 


170 

suffocating, but that by some concealed vent the 
smithy communicated with the upper air. The light 
afforded by the red fuel, and by a lamp suspended 
in an iron chain, served to show that, besides an 
anvil, bellows, tongs, hammers, a quantity of ready- 
made horse-shoes, and other articles proper to the 
profession of a farrier, there were also stoves, alem- 
bics, crucibles, retorts, and other instruments of 
alchymy. The grotesque figure of the smith, and 
the ugly but whimsical features of the boy, seen by 
the gloomy and imperfect light of the charcoal fire 
and the dying damp, accorded very well with all 
this mystical apparatus, and in that age of super- 
stition would have made some impression on the 
courage of most men. 

But nature had endowed Tressilian with firm 
nerves, and his education, originally good, had been 
too sedulously improved by subsequent study to 
give way to any imaginary terrors ; and after giving 
a glance around him, he again demanded of the 
artist who he was, and by what accident he came to 
know and address him by his name. 

“ Your worship cannot but remember,” said the 
smith, “ that about three years since, upon Saint 
Lucy’s Eve, there came a travelling juggler to a cer- 
tain hall in Devonshire, and exhibited his skill be- 
fore a worshipful knight and a fair company — I 
see from your worship’s countenance, dark as this 
place is, that my memory has not done me wrong.” 

“ Thou hast said enough,” said Tressilian, turning 
away, as wishing to hide from the speaker the pain- 
ful train of recollections which his discourse had 
unconsciously awakened. 

“ The juggler,” said the smith, “ played his part 
so bravely, that the clowns and clown-like squires 


KENILWORTH. 


in the company held his art to be little less than 
magical ; but there was one maiden of fifteen, or 
thereby, with the fairest face I ever looked upon, 
whose rosy cheek grew pale, and her bright eyes 
dim, at the sight of the wonders exhibited.” 

“ Peace, I command thee, peace ! ” said Tressilian. 

" I mean your worship no offence,” said the fel- 
low ; “ but I have cause to remember how, to re- 
lieve the young maiden’s fears, you condescended to 
point out the mode in which these deceptions were 
practised, and to baffle the poor juggler by laying 
bare the mysteries of his art, as ably as if you had 
been a brother of his order. — She was indeed so 
fair a maiden, that, to win a smile of her, a man 
might well ” 

“Not a word more of her, I charge thee !” said 
Tressilian ; “I do well remember the night you 
speak of — one of the few happy evenings my life 
has known.” 

“ She is gone, then,” said the smith, interpreting 
after his own fashion the sigh with which Tressilian 
uttered these words — “ She is gone, young, beauti- 
ful, and beloved as she was! — I crave your wor- 
ship’s pardon — I should have hammered on another 
theme — I see I have unwarily driven the nail to 
the quick.” 

This speech was made with a mixture of rude 
feeling, which inclined Tressilian favourably to the 
poor artisan, of whom before he was inclined to 
judge very harshly. But nothing can so soon at- 
tract the unfortunate, as real or seeming sympathy 
with their sorrows. 

“ I think,” proceeded Tressilian, after a minute’s 
silence, “thou wert in those days a jovial fellow, 
who could keep a company merry by song, and 


172 


KENILWORTH. 


tale, and rebeck, as well as by thy juggling tricks 
— why do I find thee a laborious handicraftsman, 
plying thy trade in so melancholy a dwelling, and 
under such extraordinary circumstances ? ” 

“ My story is not long,” said the artist ; “ but 
your honour had better sit while you listen to it.” 
So saying, he approached to the fire a three-footed 
stool, and took another himself, while Dickie Sludge, 
or Flibbertigibbet, as he called the boy, drew a cricket 
to the smith’s feet, and looked up in his face with 
features which, as illuminated by the glow of the 
forge, seemed convulsed with intense curiosity — 
“ Thou too,” said the smith to him, “ shalt learn, as 
thou well deservest at my hand, the brief history of 
my life, and, in troth, it were as well tell it thee as 
leave thee to ferret it out, since Nature never packed 
a shrewder wit into a more ungainly casket. — Well, 
sir, if my poor story may pleasure you, it is at 
your command : — But will you not taste a stoup 
of liquor? I promise you that even in this poor 
cell I have some in store.” 

“ Speak not of it,” said Tressilian, “ but go on with 
thy story, for my leisure is brief.” 

“ You shall have no cause to rue the delay,” said 
the smith, “ for your horse shall be better fed in the 
meantime than he hath been this morning, and made 
fitter for travel.” 

With that the artist left the vault, and returned 
after a few minutes’ interval. Here, also, we 
pause, that the narrative may commence in an- 
other chapter. 


CHAPTEK XI. 


I say, my lord can such a subtilty, 

(But all his craft ye must not wot of me, 

And somewhat help I yet to his working,) 

That all the ground on which we ben riding, 

, Till that we come to Canterbury town, 

He can all clean turnen so up so down, 

And pave it all of silver and of gold. 

The Canon’s Yeoman’s Prologue — Canterbury Tales 

The artist commenced his narrative in the following 
terms : — 

“ I was bred a blacksmith, and knew my art as 
well as e’er a black-thumb’d, leathern apron’d, swart- 
faced knave of that noble mystery. But I tired of 
ringing hammer-tunes on iron stithies, and went out 
into the world, where I became acquainted with a 
celebrated juggler, whose fingers had become rather 
too stiff for legerdemain, and who wished to have the 
aid of an apprentice in his noble mystery. I served 
him for six years, until I was master of my trade — 
I refer myself to your worship, whose judgment can- 
not be disputed, whether I did not learn to ply the 
craft indifferently well ? ” 

“ Excellently,” said Tressilian ; “ but be brief.” 

“It was not long after I had performed at Sir 
Hugh Robsart’s, in your worship’s presence,” said 
the artist, “that I took myself to the stage, and 
have swaggered with the bravest of them all, both 
at the Black Bull, the Globe, the Fortune, and else- 
where ; but I know not how — apples were so plenty 


174 


KENILWORTH. 


that year, that the lads in the two-penny gallery 
never took more than one bite out of them, and 
threw the rest of the pippin at whatever actor 
chanced to be on the stage. So I tired of it — re- 
nounced my half share in the company — gave my 
foil to my comrade — my buskins to the wardrobe, 
and showed the theatre a clean pair of heels.” 

“Well, friend, and what,” said Tressilian, “was 
your next shift ? ” 

“I became,” said the smith, “half partner, half 
domestic, to a man of much skill and little sub- 
stance, who practised the trade of a physicianer.” 

“ In other words,” said Tressilian, “ you were Jack 
Pudding to a quacksalver.” 

“ Something beyond that, let me hope, my good 
Master Tressilian,” replied the artist ; “ and yet, to 
say truth, our practice was of an adventurous de- 
scription, and the pharmacy which I had acquired 
in my first studies for the benefit of horses, was 
frequently applied to our human patients. But the 
seeds of all maladies are the same ; and if turpen- 
tine, tar, pitch, and beef-suet, mingled with tur- 
merick, gum-mastick, and one head of garlick, can 
cure the horse that hath been grieved with a nail, 
I see not but what it may benefit the man that hath 
been pricked with a sword. But my master’s prac- 
tice, as well as his skill, went far beyond mine, and 
dealt in more dangerous concerns. He was not only 
a bold adventurous practitioner in physic, but also, 
if your pleasure so chanced to be, an adept, who read 
the stars, and expounded the fortunes of mankind, 
genethliacally, as he called it, or otherwise. He was 
a learned distiller of simples, and a profound chemist 
— made several efforts to fix mercury, and judged him- 
self to have made a fair hit at the philosopher’s stone. 


KENILWORTH. 


175 


I have yet a programme of his on that subject, which, 
if your honour understandeth, I believe you have the 
better, not only of all who read, but also of him who 
wrote it.” 

He gave Tressilian a scroll of parchment, bear- 
ing at top and bottom, and down the margin, the 
signs of the seven planets, curiously intermingled 
with talismanical characters, and scraps of Greek 
and Hebrew. In the midst were some Latin verses 
from a cabalistical author, written out so fairly, that 
even the gloom of the place did not prevent Tressi- 
lian from reading them. The tenor of the original 
ran as follows : — 

“ Si fixum solvas, faciasque volare solutum, 

Et volucrein figas, facient te vivere tutum ; 

Si pariat ventum, valet auri pondere centum ; 

Ventus ubi vult spirat — Capiat qui capere potest.*' 

“ I protest to you,” said Tressilian, “ all I under- 
stand of this jargon is, that the last words seem to 
mean ‘Catch who catch can/” 

“ That,” said the smith, “ is the very principle that 
my worthy friend and master, Doctor Doboobie, al- 
ways acted upon ; until, being besotted with his 
own imaginations, and conceited of his high chemi- 
cal skill, he began to spend, in cheating himself, the 
money which he had acquired in cheating others, and 
either discovered or built for himself, I could never 
know which, this secret elaboratory, in which he used 
to seclude himself both from patients and disciples, 
who doubtless thought his long and mysterious ab- 
sences from his ordinary residence in the town of 
Farringdon, were occasioned by his progress in the 
mystic sciences, and his intercourse with the invi- 
sible world. Me also he tried to deceive ; but though 


176 


KENILWORTH. 


I contradicted him not, he saw that I knew too 
much of his secrets to be any longer a safe compan- 
ion. Meanwhile, his name waxed famous, or rather 
infamous, and many of those who resorted to him 
did so under persuasion that he was a sorcerer. 
And yet his supposed advance in the occult sciences, 
drew to him the secret resort of men too powerful 
to be named, for purposes too dangerous to be men- 
tioned. Men cursed and threatened him, and be- 
stowed on me, the innocent assistant of his studies, 
the nick -name of the Devil’s foot-post, which pro- 
cured me a volley of stones as soon as ever I ven- 
tured to show my face in the street of the village. 
At length, my master suddenly disappeared, pretend- 
ing to me that he was about to visit his elaboratory 
in this place, and forbidding me to disturb him till 
two days were past. When this period had elapsed, 
I became anxious, and resorted to this vault, where 
I found the fires extinguished and the utensils in 
confusion, with a note from the learned Dohoobius, 
as he was wont to style himself, acquainting me 
that we should never meet again, bequeathing me 
his chemical apparatus and the parchment which I 
have just put into your hands, advising me strongly 
to prosecute the secret which it contained, which 
would infallibly lead me to the discovery of the 
grand magisterium.” 

“ And didst thou follow this sage advice ? ” said 
Tressilian. 

“ Worshipful sir, no,” replied the smith ; “for, be- 
ing by nature cautious, and suspicious from knowing 
with whom I had to do, I made so many perquisi- 
tions before I ventured even to light a fire, that I at 
length discovered a small barrel of gunpowder, care- 
fully hid beneath the furnace, with the purpose, no 


KENILWORTH. 


177 


doubt, that as soon as I should commence the grand 
work of the transmutation of metals, the explosion 
should transmute the vault and all in it into a heap 
of ruins, which might serve at once for my slaugh- 
ter-house and my grave. This cured me of alchymy, 
and fain would I have returned to the honest ham- 
mer and anvil ; but who would bring a horse to be 
shod by the Devil’s post ? Meantime, I had won 
the* regard of my honest Flibbertigibbet here, he 
being then at Farringdon with his master, the sage 
Erasmus Holiday, by teaching him a few secrets, 
such as please youth at his age ; and after much 
counsel together, we agreed, that since I could get 
no practice in the ordinary way, I should try how 
I could work out business among these ignorant 
boors, by practising upon their silly fears ; and, 
thanks to Flibbertigibbet, who hath spread my re- 
nown, I have not wanted custom. But it is won at 
too great risk, and I fear I shall be at length taken 
up for a wizard ; so that I seek but an opportunity 
to leave this vault when I can have the protection 
of some worshipful person against the fury of the 
populace, in case they chance to recognise me.” 

“And art thou,” said Tressilian, “perfectly 
acquainted with the roads in this country?” 

“ I could ride them every inch by midnight,” 
answered Way land Smith, which was the name 
this adept had assumed. 

“ Thou hast no horse to ride upon,” said Tressilian. 

“ Pardon me,” replied Wayland ; “ I have as good 
a tit as ever yeoman bestrode ; and I forgot to say 
it was the best part of the mediciner’s legacy to me, 
excepting one or two of the choicest of his medical 
secrets, which I picked up without his knowledge 
and against his will.” 


17 * 


KENILWORTH. 


“Get thyself washed and shaved, then,” said 
Tressilian ; “ reform thy dress as well as thou canst, 
and fling away these grotesque trappings ; and, so 
thou wilt be secret and faithful, thou shalt follow me 
for a short time, till thy pranks here are forgotten. 
Thou hast, I think, both address and courage, and 
I have matter to do that may require both.” 

Way land Smith eagerly embraced the proposal, 
and protested his devotion to his new master.,. In 
a very few minutes he had made so great an altera- 
tion in his original appearance, by change of dress, 
trimming his beard and hair, and so forth, that Tres- 
silian could not help remarking, that he thought he 
would stand in little need of a protector, since none of 
his old acquaintance were likely to recognise him. 

“ My debtors would not pay me money,” said 
Wayland, shaking his head; “but my creditors of 
every kind would be less easily blinded. And, in 
truth, I hold myself not safe, unless under the 
protection of a gentleman of birth and character, 
as is your worship.” 

So saying, he led the way out of the cavern. He 
then called loudly for Hobgoblin, who, after linger- 
ing for an instant, appeared with the horse furniture, 
when Wayland closed, and sedulously covered up 
the trap door, observing, it might again serve him 
at his need, besides that the tools were worth some- 
what. A whistle from the owner brought to his side 
a nag that fed quietly on the common, and was ac- 
customed to the signal. While he accoutred him for 
the journey, Tressilian drew his own girths tighter, 
and in a few minutes both were ready to mount. 

At this moment Sludge approached to bid them 
farewell. 

“ You are going to leave me, then, my old play* 


KENILWORTH. 


179 

fellow,” said the boy ; “ and there is an end of all 
our game at bo-peep with the cowardly lubbards 
whom I brought hither to have their broad-footed 
nags shod by the devil and his imps ? ” 

“It is even so,” said Wayland Smith; “the best 
friends must part, Flibbertigibbet ; but thou, my 
boy, art the only thing in the Yale of Whitehorse 
which I shall regret to leave behind me.” 

“ Well, I bid thee not farewell,” said Dickie 
Sludge, “ for you will be at these revels, I judge, 
and so shall I ; for if Dominie Holiday take me not 
thither, by the light of day, which we see not in 
yonder dark hole, I will take myself there ! ” 

“In good time,” said Wayland; “but I pray you 
to do nought rashly.” 

“Nay, now you would make a child — a common 
child of me, and tell me of the risk of walking with- 
out leading strings. But before you are a mile from 
these stones, you shall know by a sure token, that 
I. have more of the hobgoblin about me than you 
credit ; and I will so manage, that, if you take 
advantage, you may profit by my prank.” 

“ What dost thou mean, boy ? ” said Tressilian ; 
but Flibbertigibbet only answered with a grin and 
a caper, and bidding both of them farewell, and, at 
the same time, exhorting them to make the best of 
their way from the place, he set them the example 
•by running homeward with the same uncommon 
velocity with which he had baffled Tressilian’s 
former attempts to get hold of him. 

“ It is in vain to chase him,” said Wayland Smith ; 
“ for unless your worship is expert in lark-hunting, 
we should never catch hold of him — and besides, 
what would it avail ? Better make the best of qui 
way hence, as he advises.” 


i8o 


KENILWORTH. 


They- mounted their horses accordingly, and 
began to proceed at a round pace, as soon as Tres- 
silian had explained to his guide the direction in 
which he desired to travel. 

After they had trotted nearly a mile, Tressilian 
could not help observing to his companion, that his 
horse felt more lively under him than even when 
he mounted in the morning. 

“Are you avised of that? ” said Way land Smith, 
smiling. “ That is owing to a little secret of mine. 
I mixed that with an handful of oats which shall 
save your worship’s heels the trouble of spurring 
these six hours at least. Nay, I have not studied 
medicine and pharmacy for nought.” 

“ I trust,” said Tressilian, “ your drugs will do 
my horse no harm ? ” 

“No more than the mare’s milk which foaled 
him,” answered the artist; and was proceeding to 
dilate on the excellence of his recipe, when he was 
interrupted by an explosion as loud and tremen- 
dous as the mine which blows up the rampart of a 
beleaguered city. The horses started, and the riders 
were equally surprised. They turned to gaze in 
the direction from which the thunder-clap was heard, 
and beheld, just over the spot they had left so re- 
cently, a huge pillar of dark smoke rising high into 
the clear blue atmosphere. “ My habitation is gone 
to wreck,” said Way land, immediately conjecturing 
the cause of the explosion — “I was a fool to mention 
the doctor’s kind intentions towards my mansion 
before that limb of mischief Flibbertigibbet — I 
might have guessed he would long to put so rare 
a frolic into execution. But let us hasten on/foi 
the sound will collect the country to the spot.” 

So saying, he spurred his horse, and Tressilian 


KENILWORTH. 


181 

also quickening his speed, they rode briskly 
forward. 

“ This, then, was the meaning of the little imp’s 
token which he promised us ? ” said Tressilian : “ had 
we lingered near the spot we had found it a 
love-token with a vengeance.” 

“ He would have given us warning,” said the 
smith ; “ I saw him look back more than once to 
see if we were off — ’tis a very devil for mischief, 
yet not an ill-natured devil either. It were long 
to tell your honour how I became first acquainted 
with him, and how many tricks he played me. Many 
a good turn he did me too, especially in bringing 
me customers ; for his great delight was to see them 
sit shivering behind the bushes when they heard the 
click of my hammer. I think Dame Nature, when 
she lodged a double quantity of brains in that mis- 
shapen head of his, gave him the power of enjoying 
other people’s distresses, as she gave them the 
pleasure of laughing at his ugliness.” 

“ It may be so,” said Tressilian ; “ those who 
find themselves severed from society by peculiari- 
ties of form, if they do not hate the common bulk 
of mankind, are at least not altogether indisposed 
to enjoy their mishaps and calamities.” 

“But Flibbertigibbet,” answered Way land, “hath 
that about him which may redeem his turn for mis- 
chievous frolic ; for he is as faithful when attached, 
as he is tricky and malignant to strangers ; and, as 
I said before, I have cause to say so.” 

Tressilian pursued the conversation no farther; 
and they continued their journey towards Devon- 
shire without farther adventure, until they alighted 
at an inn in the town of Marlborough, since cele- 
brated for having given title to the greatest general 


KENILWORTH. 


182 

(excepting one) whom Britain ever produced 
Here the travellers received, in the same breath, an 
example of the truth of two old proverbs, namely, 
that III news fly fast , and that Listeners seldom hear 
a good tale of themselves. 

The inn-yard was in a sort of combustion when 
they alighted ; insomuch, that they could scarce get 
man or boy to take care of their horses, so full were 
the whole household of some news which flew from 
tongue to tongue, the import of which they were 
for some time unable to discover. At length, in- 
deed, they found it respected matters which touched 
them nearly. 

“ What is the matter, say you, master ? ” answered, 
at length, the head hostler, in reply to Tressi- 
lian’s repeated questions — “ Why, truly, I scarce 
know myself. But here was a rider but now, who 
says that the devil hath flown away with him they' 
called Way land Smith, that won’d about three 
miles from the Whitehorse of Berkshire, this very 
blessed morning, in a flash of fire and a pillar of 
smoke, and rooted up the place he dwelt in, near 
that old cockpit of upright stones, as cleanly as if it 
had all been delved up for a cropping.” 

“Why, then,” said an old farmer, “the more is 
the pity — for that Way land Smith (whether he 
was the devil’s crony or no I skill not) had a good 
notion of horse diseases, and it’s to be thought the 
bots will spread in the country far and near, an 
Satan has not gien un time to leave his secret 
behind un.” 

“ You may say that, Gaffer Grimesby,” said the 
hostler in return ; “ I have carried a horse to Way- 
land Smith myself, for he passed all farriers in this 
country.” 


KENILWORTH. 


183 

“ Did you see him ? ” said Dame Alison Crane, 
mistress of the inn bearing that sign, and deigning 
to term husband the owner thereof, a mean-looking 
hop-o’-my-thumb sort of person, whose halting gait, 
and long neck, and meddling henpecked insignifi- 
cance, are supposed to have given origin to the cele- 
brated old English tune of “ My Dame hath a lame 
tame Crane.” 

On this occasion he chirp’d out a repetition of his 
wife’s question, “Didst see the devil, Jack Hostler, 
I say ? ” 

“ And what if I did see un, Master Crane ? ’* re- 
plied Jack Hostler, — for, like all the rest of the 
household, he paid as little respect to his master as 
his mistress herself did. 

“Nay, nought, Jack Hostler,” replied the paci- 
fic Master Crane, “ only if you saw the devil, me- 
thinks I would like to know what un’s like ? ” 

“You will know that one day, Master Crane,” 
said his helpmate, “ an ye mend not your manners, 
and mind your business, leaving off such idle pala- 
bras. — But truly, Jack Hostler, I should be glad to 
know myself what like the fellow was.” 

“Why, dame,” said the hostler, more respect- 
fully, “ as for what he was like I cannot tell, nor no 
man else, for why I never saw un.” 

“And how didst thou get thine errand done,” 
said Gaffer Grimesby, “ if thou seedst him not ? ” 

« Why I had schoolmaster to write down ailment 
o’ nag,” said Jack Hostler; “and I went wi’ the 
ugliest slip of a boy for my guide, as ever man cut 
out o’ lime-tree root to please a child withal.” 

“ And what was it ? — and did it cure your nag, 
Jack Hostler 1 ” was uttered and echoed by all who 
stood around. 


184 


KENILWORTH. 


“ Why, how can I tell you what it was ? ” said the 
hostler; “simply it smelled and tasted — for I did 
make bold to put a pea’s substance into my mouth 
— like hartshorn and savin mixed with vinegar — 
hut then no hartshorn and savin ever wrought so 
speedy a cure — And I am dreading that if Wayland 
Smith be gone, the bots will have more power 
over horse and cattle.” 

The pride of art, which is certainly not inferior 
in its influence to any other pride whatever, here 
so far operated on Wayland Smith, that, notwith- 
standing the obvious danger of his being recognised, 
he could not help winking to Tressilian, and smiling 
mysteriously, as if triumphing in the undoubted evi- 
dence of his veterinary skill. In the meanwhile, 
the discourse continued. 

“ E’en let it be so,” said a grave man in black, 
the companion of Gaffer Grimesby ; “ e’en let us 
perish under the evil God sends us, rather than the 
devil be our doctor.” 

“ Very true,” said Dame Crane ; “ and I marvel 
at Jack Hostler that he would peril his own soul to 
cure the bowels of a nag.” 

“Very true, mistress,” said Jack Hostler, “but 
the nag was my master’s ; and had it been yours, I 
think ye would ha’ held me cheap enow an I had 
feared the devil when the poor beast was in such a 
taking — For the rest, let the clergy look to it. 
Every man to his craft, says the proverb ; the 
parson to prayer-book, and the groom to his 
currycomb.” 

“ I vow,” said Dame Crane, “ I think Jack Hostler 
speaks like a good Christian and a faithful servant, 
who will spare neither body nor soul in his master’s 
service. However, the devil has lifted him in time* 


KENILWORTH. 


185 

for a Constable of the Hundred came hither this 
morning to get old Gaffer Pinniewinks, the trier of 
witches, to go with him to the Yale of Whitehorse to 
comprehend Way land Smith, and put him to his 
probation. I helped Pinniewinks to sharpen his 
pincers and his poking-awl, and I saw the warrant 
from Justice Blindas.” 

“ Pooh — pooh — the devil would laugh both at 
Blindas and his warrant, constable and witch-finder 
to boot,” said old Dame Crank, the papist laundress ; 
“ Wayland Smith’s flesh would mind Pinniewinks’ 
awl no more than a cambric ruff minds a hot picca- 
dilloe-needle. But tell me, gentlefolks, if the devil 
ever had such a hand among ye, as to snatch away 
your smiths and your artists from under your nose, 
when the good Abbots of Abingdon had their own ? 
By Our Lady, no ! — they had their hallowed tapers, 
and their holy water, and their relics, and what not, 
could send the foulest fiends a-packing. — Go ask a 
heretic parson to do the like — But ours were a 
comfortable people.” 

“ Very true, Dame Crank,” said the hostler; “so 
said Simpkins of Simonburn when the curate kissed 
his wife, — ‘ They are a comfortable people,’ said he.” 

“ Silence, thou foul-mouthed vermin,” said Dame 
Crank ; “ is it fit for a heretic horse-boy like thee, to 
handle such a text as the Catholic clergy ? ” 

“ In troth no, dame,” replied the man of oats ; “ and 
as you yourself are now no text for their handling, 
dame, whatever may have been the case in your day, 
I think we had e’en better leave un alone.” 

At this last exchange of sarcasm. Dame Crank set 
up her throat, and began a horrible exclamation 
against Jack Hostler, under cover of which Tres- 
silian and his attendant escaped into the house. 


1 86 


KENILWORTH. 


They had no sooner entered a private chamber, to 
which Goodman Crane himself had condescended to 
usher them, and dispatched their worthy and obse- 
quious host on the errand of procuring wine and re- 
freshment, than Way land Smith began to give vent 
to his self-importance. 

“ You see, sir,” said he, addressing Tressilian, “ that 
I nothing fabled in asserting that I possessed fully 
the mighty mystery of a farrier, or mareschal, as 
the French more honourably term us. These dog- 
hostlers, who, after all, are the better judges in such 
a case, know what credit they should attach to my 
medicaments. I call you to witness, worshipful 
Master Tressilian, that nought, save the voice of 
calumny and the hand of malicious violence, hath 
driven me forth from a station in which I held a 
place alike useful and honoured.” 

“ I bear witness, my friend, but will reserve my 
listening,” answered Tressilian, “ for a safer time ; un- 
less, indeed, you deem it essential to your reputation, 
to be translated, like your late dwelling, by the as- 
sistance of a flash of fire. For you see your best 
friends reckon you no better than a mere sorcerer.” 

“ Now, Heaven forgive them,” said the artist, “ who 
confound learned skill with unlawful magic ! I 
trust a man may be as skilful, or more so, than the 
best chirurgeon ever meddled with horse-flesh, and 
yet may be upon the matter little more than other 
ordinary men, or at the worst no conjurer.” 

“ God forbid else ! ” said Tressilian. “ But be silent 
just for the present, since here comes mine host with 
an assistant, who seems something of the least.” 

Every body about the inn, Dame Crank herself in- 
cluded, had been indeed so interested and agitated by 
the story they had heard of Way land Smith, and by 


KENILWORTH. 


187 

the new, varying, and more marvellous editions of 
the incident, which arrived from various quarters, 
that mine host, in his righteous determination to ac- 
commodate his guests, had been able to obtain the 
assistance of none of his household, saving that of a 
little boy, a junior tapster, of about twelve years 
old, who was called Sampson. 

“ I wish,” he said, apologising to his guests, as he 
set down a flagon of sack, and promised some food 
immediately, — “I wish the devil had flown away 
with my wife and my whole family instead of this 
Way land Smith, who, I dare say, after all said and 
done, was much less worthy of the distinction which 
Satan has done him .” 

“ I hold opinion with you, good fellow,” replied 
Way land Smith ; “ and I will drink to you upon that 
argument.” 

“ Not that I would justify any man who deals with 
the devil,” said mine host, after having pledged Way- 
land in a rousing draught of sack, “ but that — Saw 
ye ever better sack, my masters ? — but that, I say, 
a man had better deal with a dozen cheats and scoun- 
drel fellows, such as this Way land Smith, than with a 
devil incarnate, that takes possession of house and 
home, bed and board.” 

The poor fellow’s detail of grievances was here in- 
terrupted by the shrill voice of his helpmate, scream- 
ing from the kitchen, to which he instantly hobbled, 
craving pardon of his guests. He was no sooner 
gone than Way land Smith expressed, by every con- 
temptuous epithet in the language, his utter scorn 
for a nincompoop who stuck his head under his 
wife’s apron-string ; and intimated, that, saving for 
the sake of the horses, which required both rest and 
food, he would advise his worshipful Master Tres- 


KENILWORTH. 


1 88 

silian to push on a stage farther, rather than pay a 
reckoning to such a mean-spirited, crow-trodden, 
henpecked coxcomb, as Gaffer Crane. 

The arrival of a large dish of good cow-heel and 
bacon, something soothed the asperity of the artist, 
which wholly vanished before a choice capon, so deli- 
cately roasted, that the lard frothed on it, said Way- 
land, like May-dew on a lily ; and both Gaffer Crane 
and his good dame became, in his eyes, very pains- 
taking, accommodating, obliging persons. 

According to the manners of the times, the master 
and his attendant sat at the same table, and the 
latter observed, with regret, how little attention 
Tressilian paid to his meal. He recollected, indeed, 
the pain he had given by mentioning the maiden in 
whose company he had first seen him ; but, fearful of 
touching upon a topic too tender to be tampered with, 
he chose to ascribe his abstinence to another cause. 

“ This fare is perhaps too coarse for your wor- 
ship,” said Way land, as the limbs of the capon dis- 
appeared before his own exertions ; “ but had you 
dwelt as long as I have done in yonder dungeon, 
which Flibbertigibbet has translated to the upper 
element, a place where I dared hardly broil my food, 
lest the smoke should be seen without, you would 
think a fair capon a more welcome dainty.” 

“If you are pleased, friend,” said Tressilian, “ it 
is well. Nevertheless, hasten thy meal if thou canst, 
for this place is unfriendly to thy safety, and my 
concerns crave travelling.” 

Allowing, therefore, their horses no more rest than 
was absolutely necessary for them, they pursued 
their journey by a forced march as far as Bradford, 
where they reposed themselves for the night. 

The next morning found them early travellers, 


KENILWORTH. 


189 

And, not to fatigue the reader with unnecessary 
particulars, they traversed without adventure the 
counties of Wiltshire and Somerset, and about noon 
of the third day after Tressilian’s leaving Cumnor, 
arrived at Sir Hugh Robsart’s seat, called Lidcote 
Hall, on the frontiers of Devonshire. 


CHAPTER XII. 


Ah me \ the flower and blossom of your house, 

The wind hath blown away to other towers. 

Joanna Baillie’s Family Legend. 

The ancient seat of Lidcote Hall (q) was situated 
near the village of the same name, and adjoined 
the wild and extensive forest of Exmoor, plentifully 
stocked with game, in which some ancient rights be- 
longing to the Robsart family, entitled Sir Hugh to 
pursue his favourite amusement of the chase. The 
old mansion was a low, venerable building, occupying 
a considerable space of ground, which was surrounded 
by a deep moat. The approach and drawbridge were 
defended by an octagonal tower, of ancient brick- 
work, but so clothed with ivy and other creepers, 
that it was difficult to discover of what materials it 
was constructed. The angles of this tower were 
each decorated with a turret, whimsically various 
in form and in size, and, therefore, very unlike the 
monotonous stone pepperboxes, which, in modern 
Gothic architecture, are employed for the same pur- 
pose. One of these turrets was square, and occu- 
pied as a clock-house. But the clock was now 
standing still ; a circumstance peculiarly striking to 
Tressilian, because the good old knight, among other 
harmless peculiarities, had a fidgety anxiety about 
the exact measurement of time, very common to 
those who have a great deal of that commodity to 
dispose of, and find it lie heavy upon their hands,— 
? just as we see shopkeepers # amuse themselves with 


KENILWORTH. 


191 

taking an exact account of their stock at the time 
there is least demand for it. 

The entrance to the court-yard of the old mansion 
lay through an archway, surmounted by the fore- 
said tower, but the drawbridge was down, and one 
leaf of the iron-studded folding-doors stood care- 
lessly open. Tressilian hastily rode over the draw- 
bridge, entered the court, and began to call loudly 
on the domestics by their names. For some time 
he was only answered by the echbes and the howl- 
ing of the hounds, whose kennel lay at no great dis- 
tance from the mansion, and was surrounded by the 
same moat. At length Will Badger, the old and 
favourite attendant of the knight, who acted alike as 
squire of his body, and superintendent of his sports, 
made his appearance. The stout, weather-beaten 
forester showed great signs of joy when he recog- 
nised Tressilian. 

“ Lord love you,” he said, “ Master Edmund, be it 
thou in flesh and fell ? — Then thou mayst do some 
good on Sir Hugh, for it passes the wit of man, that 
is, of mine own, and the Curate’s, and Master Mum- 
blazen’s, to do aught wi’ un.” 

“Is Sir Hugh then worse since I went away, 
Will ? ” demanded Tressilian. 

“ For worse in body — no — he is much better,” 
replied the domestic ; “ but he is clean mazed as it 
were — eats and drinks as he was wont — but sleeps 
not, or rather wakes not, for he is ever in a sort of 
twilight, that is neither sleeping nor waking. Dame 
Swineford thought it was like the dead palsy. — 
But no, no, dame, said I, it is the heart, it is the 
heart.” 

“ Can ye not stir his mind to any pastimes ? ” said 
Tressilian, 


191 


KENILWORTH. 


“ He is clean and quite off his sports,” said Will 
Badger ; “ hath neither touched backgammon or 
shovel-board — nor looked on the big book of har- 
rowtry wi’ Master Mumblazen. 1 let the clock run 
down, thinking the missing the bell might some- 
what move him, for you know, Master Edmund, 
he was particular in counting time ; but he never 
said a word on’t, so I may e’en set the old chime a 
towling again. I made bold to tread on Bungay’s 
tail too, and you 'know what a round rating that 
would ha’ cost me once a-day — but he minded the 
poor tyke’s whine no more than a madge howlet 
whooping down the chimney — so the case is beyond 
me.” 

“ Thou shalt tell me the rest within doors, Will. 

— Meanwhile, let this person be ta’en to the buttery, 
and used with respect — He is a man of art.” 

“White art or black art, I would,” said Will 
Badger, “ that he had any art which could help us. 

— Here, Tom Butler, look to the man of art — and 
see that he steals none of thy spoons, lad,” he added 
in a whisper to the butler, who showed himself at 
a low window, “I have known as honest a faced 
fellow have art enough to do that.” 

He then ushered Tressilian into a low parlour, 
and went, at his desire, to see in what state his 
master was, lest the sudden return of his darling 
pupil, and proposed son-in-law, should affect him 
too strongly. He returned immediately, and said 
that Sir Hugh was dozing in his elbow-chair, but 
that Master Mumblazen would acquaint Master 
Tressilian the instant he awaked. 

“But it is chance if he knows you,” said the 
huntsman, “ for he has forgotten the name of every 
hound in the pack. I thought about a week since, 


KENILWORTH. 


193 

he had gotten a favourable turn : — ‘ Saddle me old 
Sorrel/ said he, suddenly, after he had taken his 
usual night-draught out of the great silver grace- 
cup, ‘ and take the hounds to Mount Hazelhurst to- 
morrow.’ Glad men were we all, and out we had 
him in the morning, and he rode to cover as usual, 
with never a word spoken but that the wind was 
south, and the scent would lie. But ere we had un- 
coupled the hounds, he began to stare round him, 
like a man that wakes suddenly out of a dream — 
turns bridle and walks back to Hall again, and leaves 
us to hunt at leisure by ourselves, if we listed.” 

“ You tell a heavy tale, Will,” replied Tressilian ; 
“ but God must help us — there is no aid in man.” 

“ Then you bring us no news of young Mistress 
Amy ? — But what need I ask — your brow tells 
the story. Ever I hoped, that if any man could or 
would track her, it must be you. All’s over and 
lost now. But if ever I have that Varney within 
reach of a flight-shot, I will bestow a forked shaft 
on him ; and that I swear by salt and bread.” 

As he spoke, the door opened, and Master Mum- 
blazen appeared ; a withered, thin, elderly gentle- 
man, with a cheek like a winter apple, and his grey 
hair partly concealed by a small high hat, shaped 
like a cone, or rather like such a strawberry-basket 
as London fruiterers exhibit at their windows. He 
was too sententious a person to waste words on mere 
salutation ; so, having welcomed Tressilian with a 
nod and a shake of the hand, he beckoned him to 
follow to Sir Hugh’s great chamber, which the good 
knight usually inhabited. Will Badger followed, 
unasked, anxious to see whether his master would 
be relieved from his state of apathy by the arrival 
of Tressilian. 


194 


KENILWORTH. 


In a long low parlour, amply furnished with im- 
plements of the chase, and with silvan trophies, by 
a massive stone chimney, over which hung a sword 
and suit of armour, somewhat obscured by neglect, 
sat Sir Hugh Robsart of Lidcote, a man of large 
size, which had been only kept within moderate 
compass by the constant use of violent exercise. It 
seemed to Tressilian that the lethargy, under which 
his old friend appeared to labour, had, even during 
his few weeks’ absence, added bulk to his person ; 
at least it had obviously diminished the vivacity of 
his eye, which, as they entered, first followed Mas- 
ter Mumblazen slowly to a large oaken desk, on 
which a ponderous volume lay open, and then rested, 
as if in uncertainty, on the stranger who had en- 
tered along with him. The curate, a grey-headed 
clergyman, who had been a confessor in the days of 
Queen Mary, sat with a book in his hand in an- 
other recess in the apartment. He, too, signed a 
mournful greeting to Tressilian, and laid his book 
aside, to watch the effect his appearance should pro- 
duce on the afflicted old man. 

As Tressilian, his own eyes filling fast with tears, 
approached more and more nearly to the father of 
his betrothed bride, Sir Hugh’s intelligence seemed 
to revive. He sighed heavily, as one who awakens 
from a state of stupor, a slight convulsion passed 
over his features, he opened his arms without speak- 
ing a word, and, as Tressilian threw himself into 
them, he- folded him to his bosom. 

“ There is something left to live for yet,” were 
the first words he uttered ; and while he spoke, he 
gave vent to his feelings in a paroxysm of weeping, 
the tears chasing each other down his sunburnt 
cheeks and long white beard. 


KENILWORTH. 


*95 


* I ne’er thought to have thanked God to see my 
master weep,” said Will Badger; “but now I do, 
though I am like to weep for company.” 

“ I will ask thee no questions,” said the old 
Knight ; “ no questions — none, Edmund — thou 
hast not found her, or so found her, that she were 
better lost ” • 

Tressilian was unable to reply, otherwise than by 
putting his hands before his face. 

“It is enough — it is enough. But do not thou 
weep for her, Edmund. I have cause to weep, for 
she was my daughter, — thou hast cause to rejoice, 
that she did not become thy wife. — Great God ! 
thou knowest best what is good for us — It was my 
nightly prayer that I should see Amy and Edmund 
wedded, — had it been granted, it had now been 
gall added to bitterness.” 

“ Be comforted, my friend,” said the Curate, ad- 
dressing Sir Hugh, “it cannot be that the daughter 
of all our hopes and affections is the vile creature 
you would bespeak her.” 

“ 0, no,” replied Sir Hugh, impatiently, “ I were 
wrong to name broadly the base thing she is be- 
come — there is some new court name for it, I war- 
rant me. It is honour enough for the daughter 
of an old De’nshire clown to be the leman of a 
gay courtier, — of Varney, too, — of Varney, whose 
grandsire was relieved by my father, when his for- 
tune was broken, at the battle of — the battle of — 
where Richard was slain — out on my memory ! and 
I warrant none of you will help me ” 

“The battle of Bosworth,” said Master Mum- 
blazen, “ stricken between Richard Crookback and 
Henry Tudor, grandsire of the Queen that now is, 
Primo Henrici Septimi ; and in the year one thou- 


196 KENILWORTH. 

sand four hundred and eighty-five, post Christum 

natum” 

“ Ay, even so,” said the old Knight, “ every child 
knows it — But my poor head forgets all it should 
remember, and remembers only what it would most 
willingly forget. My brain has been at fault, Tres- 
silian, almost ever since thou hast been away, and 
even yet it hunts counter.” 

“ Your worship,” said the good clergyman, “ had 
better retire to your apartment, and try to sleep 
for a little space, — the physician left a composing 
draught, — and our Great Physician has commanded 
us to use earthly means, that we may be strength- 
ened to sustain the trials he sends us.” 

“ True, true, old friend,” said Sir Hugh, “ and we 
will bear our trials manfully — We have lost but a 
woman. — See, Tressilian,” — he drew from his bosom 
a long ringlet of glossy hair, — “ see this lock ! — I 
tell thee, Edmund, the very night she disappeared, 
when she bid me good even, as she was wont, she 
hung about my neck, and fondled me more than 
usual; and I, like an old fool, held her by this 
lock, until she took her scissors, severed it, and 
left it in my hand, — as all I was ever to see more 
of her ! ” 

Tressilian was unable to reply, well judging what 
a complication of feelings must have crossed the 
bosom of the unhappy fugitive at that cruel moment. 
The clergyman was about to speak, but Sir Hugh 
interrupted him. 

“ I know what you would say, Master Curate, — 
after all, it is but a lock of woman’s tresses, — and 
by woman, shame, and sin, and death, came into an 
innocent world — And learned Master Mumblazen, 
too, can say scholarly things of their inferiority.” 


KENILWORTH. 


197 


u (Test Vhomme ,” said Master Mumblazen, “ qui 
se bast, et qui conseille” 

“ True,” said Sir Hugh, “ and we will bear us, 
therefore, like men who have both mettle and wis- 
dom in us. — Tressilian, thou art as welcome as if 
thou hadst brought better news. But we have 
spoken too long dry-lipped. — Amy, fill a cup of 
wine to Edmund, and another to me.” Then in- 
stantly recollecting that he called upon her who 
could not hear, he shook his head, and said to the 
clergyman, “This grief is to my bewildered mind 
what the Church of Lidcote is to our park : we may 
lose ourselves among the briers and thickets for a 
little space, but from the end of each avenue we see 
the old grey steeple and the grave of my forefathers. 
I would I were to travel that road to-morrow ! ” 

Tressilian and the Curate joined in urging the 
exhausted old man to lay himself to rest, and at 
length prevailed. Tressilian remained by his pil- 
low till he saw that slumber at length sunk down 
on him, and then returned to consult with the 
Curate what steps should be adopted in these 
unhappy circumstances. 

They could not exclude from these deliberations 
Master Michael Mumblazen ; and they admitted 
him the more readily, that besides what hopes they 
entertained from his sagacity, they knew him to 
be so great a friend to taciturnity, that there was 
no doubt of his keeping counsel. He was an old 
bachelor, of good family, but small fortune, and 
distantly related to the House of Robsart ; in virtue 
of which connexion, Lidcote Hall had been honoured 
with his residence for the last twenty years. His 
company was agreeable to Sir Hugh, chiefly on 
account of his profound learning, which, though it 


KENILWORTH. 


198 

only related to heraldry and genealogy, with such 
scraps of history as connected themselves with these 
subjects, was precisely of a kind to captivate the 
good old knight ; besides the convenience which he 
found in having a friend to appeal to, when his own 
memory, as frequently happened, proved infirm, and 
played him false concerning names and dates, which, 
and all similar deficiencies, Master Michael Mum- 
blazen supplied with due brevity and discretion. 
And, indeed, in matters concerning the modern 
world, he often gave, in his enigmatical and herald- 
ric phrase, advice which was well worth attending 
to, or, in Will Badger’s language, started the game 
while others beat the bush. 

“We have had an unhappy time of it with the 
good Knight, Master Edmund,” said the Curate. 
“ I have not suffered so much since I was torn 
away from my beloved flock, and compelled to 
abandon them to the Romish wolves.” 

“ That was in Tertio Marice” said Master Mum- 
blazen. 

“In the name of Heaven,” continued the Curate, 
“ tell us, has your time been better spent than ours, 
or have you any news of that unhappy maiden, who, 
being for so many years the principal joy of this 
broken-down house, is now proved our greatest 
unhappiness ? Have you not at least discovered 
her place of residence ? ” 

“ I have,” replied Tressilian. “ Know you Cum- 
nor-Place, near Oxford ? ” 

“ Surely,” said the clergyman ; “ it was a house 
of removal for the monks of Abingdon.” 

“Whose arms,” said Master Michael, “I have 
seen over a stone chimney in the hall, — a cross 
patonee betwixt four martlets.” 


KENILWORTH. 


199 


* There/’ said Tressilian, “this unhappy maiden 
resides, in company with the villain Varney. But 
for a strang^ mishap, my sword had revenged 
all our injuries, as well as hers, on his worthless 
head.” 

“Thank God, that kept thine hand from blood- 
guiltiness, rash young man ! ” answered the Curate. 
“ V engeance is mine, saith the Lord, and I will 
repay it. It were better study to free her from the 
villain’s nets of infamy.” 

“ They are called, in heraldry, laquei amoris , or 
lacs d'amour” said Mumblazen. 

“ It is in that I require your aid, my friends,” 
said Tressilian ; “ I am resolved to accuse this vil- 
lain, at the very foot of the throne, of falsehood, 
seduction, and breach of hospitable laws. The 
Queen shall hear me, though the Earl of Leicester, 
the villain’s patron, stood at her right hand.” 

“Her Grace,” said the Curate, “hath set a comely 
example of continence to her subjects, and will 
doubtless do justice on this inhospitable robber. 
But wert thou not better apply to the Earl of Lei- 
cester, in the first place, for justice on his servant ? 
If he grants it, thou dost save the risk of making 
thyself a powerful adversary, which will certainly 
chance, if, in the first instance, you accuse his 
master of the horse, and prime favourite, before the 
Queen.” 

“ My mind revolts from your counsel,” said Tres- 
silian. “I cannot brook to plead my noble patron’s 
cause — the unhappy Amy’s cause — before any one 
save my lawful Sovereign. Leicester, thou wilt 
say, is noble — be it so — he is but a subject like our- 
selves, and I will not carry my plaint to him, if I 
can do better. Still, I will think on what thou hast 


200 


KENILWORTH. 


said, — but I must have your assistance to persuade 
the good Sir Hugh to make me his commissioner 
and fiduciary in this matter, for it is in his name I 
must speak, and not in my own. Since she is so 
far changed as to dote upon this empty profligate 
courtier, he shall at least do her the justice which 
is yet in his power.” 

“ Better she died ccelebs and sine prole,” said 
Mumhlazen, with more animation than he usually 
expressed, “than part, per pale, the noble coat of 
Robsart with that of such a miscreant ! ” 

“ If it be your object, as I cannot question,” said 
the clergyman, “ to save, as much as is yet possible, 
the credit of this unhappy young woman, I repeat, 
you should apply, in the first instance, to the Earl 
of Leicester. He is as absolute in his household as 
the Queen in her kingdom, and if he expresses to 
Varney that such is his pleasure, her honour will 
not stand so publicly committed.” 

“You are right, you are right,” said Tressilian, 
eagerly, “ and I thank you for pointing out what 
I overlooked in my haste. I little thought ever to 
have besought grace of Leicester ; but I could kneel 
to the proud Dudley, if doing so could remove one 
shade of shame from this unhappy damsel. You 
will assist me then to procure the necessary powers 
from Sir Hugh Robsart ? ” 

The Curate assured him of his assistance, and 
the herald nodded assent. 

“ You must hold yourselves also in readiness to 
testify, in case you are called upon, the open-hearted 
hospitality which our good patron exercised towards 
this deceitful traitor, and the solicitude with which 
he laboured to seduce his unhappy daughter.” 

“ At first,” said the clergyman, “ she did not, as 


KENILWORTH. 


sot 

it seemed to me, much affect his company, but lat- 
terly I saw them often together.” 

“ Seiant in the parlour,” said Michael Mumbla- 
zen, and passant in the garden.” 

“ I once came on them by chance,” said the priest, 
“ in the South wood, in a spring evening — Varney 
was muffled in a russet cloak, so that I saw not his 
face, — they separated hastily, as they heard me 
rustle amongst the leaves; and I observed she 
turned her head and looked long after him.” 

“ With neck reguardant” said the herald — “ and 
on the day of her flight, and that was on Saint 
Austen’s Eve, I saw Varney’s groom, attired in his 
liveries, hold his master’s horse and Mistress Amy’s 
palfrey, bridled and saddled proper , behind the wall 
of the churchyard.” 

“ And now is she found mewed up in his secret 
place of retirement,” said Tressilian. “ The villain 
is taken in the manner, and I well wish he may 
deny his crime, that I may thrust conviction down 
his false throat ! But I must prepare for my jour- 
ney. Do you, gentlemen, dispose my patron to grant 
me such powers as are needful to act in his name.” 

So saying, Tressilian left the room. 

“ He is too hot,” said the Curate ; “ and I pray 
to God that he may grant him the patience to deal 
with Varney as is fitting.” 

“ Patience and Varney,” said Mumblazen, “ is 
worse heraldry than metal upon metal. He is more 
false than a siren, more rapacious than a griffin, 
more poisonous than a wyvern, and more cruel than 
a lion rampant.” 

“ Yet I doubt much,” said the Curate, “ whether 
we can with propriety ask from Sir Hugh Rob- 
sart, being in his present condition, any deed de- 


202 


KENILWORTH. 


puting his paternal right in Mistress Amy to 
whomsoever ” 

“ Your reverence need not doubt that,” said Will 
Badger, who entered as he spoke, “ for I will lay 
my life he is another man when he wakes, than he 
has been these thirty days past.” 

“ Ay, Will,” said the Curate, “ hast thou then so 
much confidence in Doctor Diddleum’s draught ? ” 

“Not a whit,” said Will, “because master ne’er 
tasted a drop on’t, seeing it was emptied out by the 
housemaid. But here’s a gentleman, who came 
attending on Master Tressilian, has given Sir Hugh 
a draught that is worth twenty of yon un. I have 
spoken cunningly with him, and a better farrier, or 
one who hath a more just notion of horse and dog 
ailment, I have never seen ; and such a one would 
never be unjust to a Christian man.” 

“ A farrier ! you saucy groom — And by whose 
authority, pray ? ” said the Curate, rising in surprise 
and indignation ; “ or who will be warrant for this 
new physician ? ” • 

“ For authority, an it like your reverence, he had 
mine ; and for warrant, I trust I have not been five- 
and-twenty years in this house, without having right 
to warrant the giving of a draught to beast or body 
— I who can gie a drench, and a ball, and bleed, or 
blister, if need, to my very self.” 

The counsellors of the house of Robsart thought 
it meet to carry this information instantly to Tres- 
silian, who as speedily summoned before him Way- 
land Smith, and demanded of him, (in private, 
however,) by what authority he had ventured to 
administer any medicine to Sir Hugh Robsart ? 

“ Why,” replied the artist, “ your worship can- 
not but remember that I told you I had made more 


KENILWORTH. 


203 


progress into my master’s — I mean the learned 
Doctor Doboobie’s — mystery than he was willing 
to own ; and indeed half of his quarrel and malice 
'against me was, that, besides that I got something 
too deep into his secrets, several discerning persons, 
and particularly a buxom young widow of Abing- 
don, preferred my prescriptions to his.” 

“None of thy buffoonery, sir,” said Tressilian, 
sternly. “ If thou hast trifled with us — much more, 
if thou hast done aught that may prejudice Sir 
Hugh Robsart’s health, thou shalt find thy grave at 
the bottom of a tin-mine.” 

“ I know too little of the great arcanum to con- 
vert the ore to gold,” said Way land, firmly. “ But 
truce to your apprehensions, Master Tressilian — I 
understood the good Knight’s case, from what 
Master William Badger told me ; and I hope I am 
able enough to administer a poor dose of mandra- 
gorn, which, with the sleep that must needs follow, 
is all that Sir Hugh Robsart requires to settle his 
distraught brains.” 

“ I trust thou dealest fairly with me, Way land ? ” 
said Tressilian. 

“ Most fairly and honestly, as the event shall 
show,” replied the artist. “ What would it avail me 
to harm the poor old man for whom you are in- 
terested ? you, to whom I owe it, that Gaffer Pinnie- 
winks is not even now rending my flesh ‘and sinews 
with his accursed pincers, and probing every mole 
in my body with his sharpened awl (a murrain on 
the hands which forged it !) in order to find out the 
witch’s mark ? — I trust to yoke myself as a humble 
follower to your worship’s train, and I only wish 
to have my faith judged of by the result of the good 
Knight’s slumbers.” 


204 


KENILWORTH. 


Wayland Smith was right in his prognostication. 
The sedative draught which his skill had prepared, 
and Will Badger’s confidence had administered, 
was attended with the most beneficial effects. The 
patient’s sleep was long and healthful ; and the poor 
old Knight awoke, humbled indeed in thought, and 
weak in frame, yet a much better judge of whatever 
was subjected to his intellect than he had been for 
some time past. He resisted for a while the pro- 
posal made by his friends, that Tressilian should 
undertake a journey to court, to attempt the recov- 
ery of his daughter, and the redress of her wrongs, 
in so far as they might yet be repaired. “ Let her 
go,” he said ; “ she is but a hawk that goes down 
the wind ; I would not bestow even a whistle to 
reclaim her.” But though he for some time main- 
tained this argument, he was at length convinced it 
was his duty to take the part to which natural 
affection inclined him, and consent that such efforts 
as could yet be made should be used by Tressilian 
in behalf of his daughter. He subscribed, therefore, 
a warrant of attorney, such as the Curate’s skill 
enabled him to draw up ; for in those simple days 
the clergy were often the advisers of their flock in 
law, as well as in gospel. 

All matters were prepared for Tressilian’s second 
departure, within twenty-four hours after he had 
returned to Lidcote Hall ; but one material circum- 
stance had been forgotten, which was first called to 
the remembrance of Tressilian by Master Mumbla- 
zen. “ You are going to court, Master Tressilian,” 
said he; “you will please remember, that your 
blazonry must be argent, and or — no other tinctures 
will pass current.” The remark was equally just 
and embarrassing. To prosecute a suit at court, 


KENILWORTH. 


205 


ready money was as indispensable even in the golden 
days of Elizabeth as at any succeeding period ; 
and it was a commodity little at the command of 
the inhabitants of Lidcote Hall. Tressilian was him- 
self poor ; the revenues of good Sir Hugh Robsart 
were consumed, and even anticipated, in his hospi- 
table mode of living ; and it was finally necessary 
that the herald who started the doubt should him- 
self solve it. Master Michael Mumblazen did so by 
producing a bag of money, containing nearly three 
hundred pounds in gold and silver of various coin- 
age, the savings of twenty years ; which he now, 
without speaking a syllable upon the subject, dedi- 
cated to the service of the patron whose shelter and 
protection had given him the means of making this 
little hoard. Tressilian accepted it without affect- 
ing a moment’s hesitation, and a mutual grasp of 
the hand was all that passed betwixt them, to 
express the pleasure which the one felt in dedicating 
his all to such a purpose, and that which the other 
received from finding so material an obstacle to the 
success of his journey so suddenly removed, and in 
a manner so unexpected. 

While Tressilian was making preparations for 
his departure early the ensuing morning, Way land 
Smith desired to speak with him ; and, expressing his 
hope that he had been pleased with the operation 
of his medicine in behalf of. Sir Hugh Robsart, added 
his desire to accompany him to court. This was 
indeed what Tressilian himself had several times 
thought of ; for the shrewdness, alertness of under- 
standing, and variety of resource, which this fellow 
had exhibited during the time they had travelled 
together, had made him sensible that his assistance 
might be of importance. But then Way land was in 


2o6 


KENILWORTH, 


# 

danger from the grasp of law ; and of this Tressi- 
lian reminded him, mentioning something, at the 
same time, of the pincers of Pinniewinks, and the 
warrant of Master Justice Blindas. Way land Smith 
laughed both to scorn. 

“ See you, sir ! ” said he, “ I have changed my 
garb from that of a farrier to a serving-man ; but 
were it still as it was, look at my mustaches — they 
now hang down — I will but turn them up, and dye 
them with a tincture that I know of, and the devil 
would scarce know me again.” 

He accompanied these words with the appropri- 
ate action ; and in less than a minute, by setting up 
his mustaches and his hair, he seemed a different 
person from him that had but now entered the room. 
Still, however, Tressilian hesitated to accept his ser- 
vices, and the artist became proportionably urgent. 

“ I owe you life and limb,” he said, “ and I would 
fain pay a part of the debt, especially as I know 
from Will Badger on what dangerous service your 
worship is bound. I do not, indeed, pretend to be 
what is called a man of mettle, one of those ruffling 
tear-cats, who maintain their master’s quarrel with 
sword and buckler Nay, I am even one of those 
who hold the end of a feast better than the begin- 
ning of a fray. But I know that I can serve your 
worship better in such quest as yours, than any of 
these sword-and-dagger men, and that my head will 
be worth an hundred of their hands.” 

Tressilian still hesitated. He knew not much of 
this strange fellow, and was doubtful how far he 
could repose in him the confidence necessary to 
render him an useful attendant upon the present 
emergency. Ere he had come to a determination, 
the trampling of a horse was heard in the court- 


KENILWORTH. 


207 


yard, and Master Mumblazen and Will Badger both 
entered hastily into Tressilian’s chamber, speaking 
almost at the same moment. 

“ Here is a serving-man on the bonniest grey tit I 
ever see’d in my life,” said Will Badger, who got the 

start ; “ having on his arm a silver cognizance, 

being a fire-drake holding in his mouth a brick-bat, 
under a coronet of an Earl’s degree,” said Master Mum- 
blazen, “ and bearing a letter sealed of the same.” 

Tressilian took the letter, which was addressed 
“ To the worshipful Master Edmund Tressilian, our 
loving kinsman — These — ride, ride, ride, — for thy 
life, for thy life, for thy life.” He then opened it, 
and found the following contents : — 

* ‘Master Tressilian, our good Eriend and 
Cousin, 

“ We are at present so ill at ease, and otherwise so 
unhappily circumstanced, that we are desirous to have 
around us those of our friends on whose loving kind- 
ness we can most especially repose confidence; amongst 
whom we hold our good Master Tressilian one of the 
foremost and nearest, both in good will and good abil- 
ity. We therefore pray you, with your most convenient 
speed, to repair to our poor lodging, at Say’s Court, 
near Deptford, where we will treat farther with you of 
matters which we deem it not fit to commit unto writ- 
ing. And so we bid you heartily farewell, being your 
loving kinsman to command, 

“ Ratcliffe, Earl of Sussex.” (r) 

“ Send up the messenger instantly, Will Badger,” 
said Tressilian ; and as the man entered the room, 
he exclaimed, “ All, Stevens, is it you ? how does my 
good lord ? ” 

Mil, Master Tressilian,” was the messenger’s 


208 


KENILWORTH. 


reply, “ and having therefore the more need of good 
friends around him.” 

“ But what is my lord’s malady ? ” said Tressilian, 
anxiously, “ I heard nothing of his being ill.” 

“ I know not, sir,” replied the man ; “ he is very 
ill at ease. The leeches are at a stand, and many 
of his household suspect foul practice, — witchcraft, 
or worse.” 

“ What are the symptoms ? ” said Wayland Smith, 
stepping forward hastily. 

“ Anan?” said the messenger, not comprehending 
his meaning. 

“ What does he ail ? ” said Wayland ; “ where lies 
his disease ? ” 

The man looked at Tressilian, as if to know whether 
he should answer these enquiries from a stranger, 
and receiving a sign in the affirmative, he hastily 
enumerated gradual loss of strength, nocturnal per- 
spiration, and loss of appetite, faintness, &c. 

“Joined,” said Wayland, “to a gnawing pain in 
the stomach, and a low fever ? ” 

“ Even so,” said t"he messenger, somewhat surprised. 

“ I know how the disease is caused,” said the 
artist, “and I know the cause. Your master has 
eaten of the manna of Saint Nicholas. I know the 
cure too — my master shall not say I studied in his 
laboratory for nothing.” 

“ How mean you ? ” said Tressilian, frowning ; 
“ we speak of one of the first nobles of England. 
Bethink you, this is no subject for buffoonery.” 

“ God forbid ! ” said Wayland Smith. “ I say that 
I know his disease, and can cure him. Remember 
what I did for Sir Hugh Robsart.” 

“We will, set forth instantly,” said Tressilian. 
“ God calls us.” 


KENILWORTH. 


209 


Accordingly, hastily mentioning this new motive 
for his instant departure, though without alluding 
to either the suspicions of Stevens, or the assurances 
of Wayland Smith, he took the kindest leave of Sir 
Hugh and the family at Lidcote Hall, who accom- 
panied him with prayers and blessings, and, attended 
by Wayland and the Earl of Sussex’s domestic^ 
travelled with the utmost speed towards London. 




i 

I 




CHAPTER XIII. 


— — Ay, I know you have arsenic, 

Vitriol, sal-tartre, argaile, alkaly, 

Cinoper : I know all. — This fellow, Captain, 

Will come in time to be a great distiller, 

And give a say (I will not say directly. 

But very near) at the philosopher’s stone. 

The Alchemist. 


Tressilian and his attendants pressed their route 
with all dispatch. He had asked the smith, indeed, 
when their departure was resolved on, whether he 
would not rather choose to avoid Berkshire, in which 
he had played a part so conspicuous ? But Wayland 
returned a confident answer. He had employed 
the short interval they passed at Lidcote Hall in 
transforming himself in a wonderful manner. His 
wild and overgrown thicket of beard was now re- 
strained to two small mustaches on the upper lip, 
turned up in a military fashion. A tailor from the 
village of Lidcote (well paid) had exerted his skill, 
under his customer’s directions, so as completely to 
alter Wayland’s outward man, and take off from 
his appearance almost twenty years of age. For- 
merly, besmeared with soot and charcoal — over- 
grown with hair, and bent double with the nature 
of his labour — disfigured too by his odd and fan- 
tastic dress, he seemed a man of fifty years old. But 
now, in a handsome suit of Tressilian’s livery, with 
a sword by his side, and a buckler on his shoulder, 
he looked like a gay ruffling serving-man, whose 


KENILWORTH. 


21 1 


age might be betwixt thirty and thirty-five, the very 
prime of human life. His loutish savage-looking 
demeanour seemed equally changed, into a forward, 
sharp, and impudent alertness of look and action. 

. When challenged by Tressilian, who desired to 
know the cause of a metamorphosis so singular and 
so absolute, Way land only answered by singing a 
stave from a comedy, which was then new, and was 
supposed, among the more favourable judges, to 
augur some genius on the part of the author. We 
are happy to preserve the couplet, which ran exactly 
thus, — 

“ Ban, ban, ca Caliban — 

Get a new master — Be a new man.” 

Although Tressilian did not recollect the verses, yet 
they reminded him that Way land had once been 
a stage-player, a circumstance which, of itself, ac- 
counted indifferently well for the readiness with 
which he could assume so total a change of personal 
appearance. The artist himself was so confident of 
his disguise being completely changed, or of his 
having completely changed his disguise, which may 
be the more correct mode of speaking, that he re- 
gretted they were not to pass near his old place of 
retreat. 

“ I could venture,” he said, “ in my present dress, 
and with your worship’s backing, to face Master 
Justice Blind as, even on a day of Quarter Sessions , 
and I would like to know what has become of Hob- 
goblin, who is like to play the devil in the world, if 
he can once slip the string, and leave his granny and 
his dominie. — Ay, and the scathed vault l ” he said 
“ I would willingly have seen what havoc the ex- 
plosion of so much gunpowder has made among 


212 


KENILWORTH. 


Doctor Demetrius Doboobie’s retorts and phials. 1 
warrant me, my fame haunts the Yale of the White- 
horse long after my body is rotten ; and that many 
a lout ties up his horse, lays down his silver groat* 
and pipes like a sailor whistling in a calm, for Way- 
land Smith to come and shoe his tit for him. But 
the horse will catch the founders ere the smith 
answers the call.” 

In this particular, indeed, Way land proved a true 
prophet ; and so easily do fables rise, that an obscure 
tradition of his extraordinary practice in farriery 
prevails in the Yale of Whitehorse even unto this 
day ; and neither the tradition of Alfred’s Vic- 
tory, (s) nor of the celebrated Pusey Horn, are 
better preserved in Berkshire than the wild legend 
of Way land Smith. 1 

The haste of the travellers admitted their making 
no stay upon their journey, save what the refresh- 
ment of the horses required; and as many of the 
places through which they passed were under the 
influence of the Earl of Leicester, or persons imme- 
diately dependent on him, they thought it prudent 
to disguise their names, and the purpose of their 
journey. On such occasions the agency of Wayland 
Smith (by which name we shall continue to distin- 
guish the artist, though his real name was Lancelot 
Wayland) was extremely serviceable. He seemed, 
indeed, to have a pleasure in displaying the alert- 
ness with which he could baffle investigation, and 
amuse himself by putting the curiosity of tapsters 
and innkeepers on a false scent. During the course 
of their brief journey, three different and inconsis- 
tent reports were circulated by him on their ac- 
count ; namely, first, that Tressilian was the Lord 
1 Note II. — Legend of Wayland Smith. 


KENILWORTH. 


Deputy of Ireland, come over in disguise to take the 
Queen’s pleasure concerning the great rebel Rory 
Oge MacCarthy MacMahon ; secondly, that the said 
Tressilian was an agent of Monsieur, coming to urge 
his suit to the hand of Elizabeth ; thirdly, that he 
was the Duke of Medina, come over, incognito, to 
adjust the quarrel betwixt Philip and that princess. 

Tressilian was angry, and expostulated with the 
artist on the various inconveniences, and, in partic- 
ular, the unnecessary degree of attention to which 
they were subjected by the figments he thus circu- 
lated ; but he was pacified (for who could be proof 
against such an argument?) by Way land’s assuring 
him that a general importance was attached to his 
own (Tressilian’s) striking presence, which rendered 
it necessary to give an extraordinary reason for the 
rapidity and secrecy of his journey. 

At length they approached the metropolis, where, 
owing to the more general recourse of strangers, 
their appearance excited neither observation nor in- 
quiry, and finally they entered London itself. 

It was Tressilian’s purpose to go down directly 
to Deptford, where Lord Sussex resided, in order to 
be near the court, then held at Greenwich, the fa- 
vourite residence of Elizabeth, and honoured as her 
birth-place. Still a brief halt in London was neces- 
sary ; and it was somewhat prolonged by the earn- 
est entreaties of Way land Smith, who desired per- 
mission to take a walk through the city. 

“Take thy sword and buckler, and follow me, 
then,” said Tressilian ; “lam about to walk myself, 
and we will go in company.” 

This he said, because he was not altogether so 
secure of the fidelity of his new retainer, as to lose 
sight of him at this interesting moment, when rival 


2!4 


KENILWORTH. 


factions at the court of Elizabeth were running so 
high. Wayland Smith willingly acquiesced in the 
precaution, of which he probably conjectured the 
motive, but only stipulated, that his master should 
enter the shops of such chemists or apothecaries 
as he should point out, in walking through Fleet 
Street, and permit him to make some necessary pur- 
chases. Tressilian agreed, and obeying the signal 
of his attendant, walked successively into more than 
four or five shops, where he observed that Wayland 
purchased in each only one single drug, in various 
quantities. The medicines which he first asked for 
were readily furnished, each in succession, but those 
which he afterwards required were less easily sup- 
plied — and Tressilian observed, that Wayland more 
than once, to the surprise of the shopkeeper, re- 
turned the gum or herb that was offered to him, and 
compelled him to exchange it for the right sort, or 
else went on to seek it elsewhere. But one ingre- 
dient, in particular, seemed almost impossible to be 
found. Some chemists plainly admitted they had 
never seen it, — others denied that such a drug ex- 
isted, excepting in the imagination of crazy alchy- 
mists, — and most of them attempted to satisfy their 
customer, by producing some substitute, which, when 
rejected by Wayland, as not being what he had 
asked for, they maintained possessed, in a superior 
degree, the self-same qualities. In general, they all 
displayed some curiosity concerning the purpose for 
which he wanted it. One old, meagre chemist, to 
whom the artist put the usual question, in terms 
which Tressilian neither understood nor could re- 
collect, answered frankly, there was none of that 
drug in London, unless Yoglan the Jew chanced to 
have some of it upon hand 


KENILWORTH. 


215 


"I thought as much,” said Wayland. And as 
soon as they left the shop, he said to Tressilian, “ I 
crave your pardon, sir, but no artist can work with- 
out his tools. I must needs go to this Yoglan’s ; 
and I promise you, that if this detains you longer 
than your leisure seems to permit, you shall, never- 
theless, be well repaid, by the use I will make of 
this rare drug. Permit me,” he added, “ to walk 
before you, for we are now to quit the broad street, 
and we will make double speed if I lead the way.” 

Tressilian acquiesced, and, following the smith 
down a lane which turned to the left hand towards 
the river, he found that his guide walked on with 
great speed, and apparently perfect knowledge of 
the town, through a labyrinth of by-streets, courts, 
and blind alleys, until at length Wayland paused in 
the midst of a very narrow lane, the termination of 
which showed a peep of the Thames looking misty 
and muddy, which background was crossed saltier- 
ways, as Mr. Mumblazen might have said, by the 
masts of two lighters that lay waiting for the tide. 
The shop* under which he halted had not, as in 
modern days, a glazed window — but a paltry can- 
vass screen surrounded such a stall as a cobbler 
now occupies, having the front open, much in the 
manner of a fishmonger’s booth of the present day. 
A little old smock-faced man, the very reverse of a 
Jew in complexion, for he was very soft-haired as 
well as beardless, appeared, and with many courte- 
sies asked Wayland what he pleased to want. He 
had no sooner named the drug, than the Jew started 
and looked surprised. “And vat might your vor- 
ship vant vith that drug, which is not named, mein 
God, in forty years as I have been chemist here ? ” 

“ These questions it is no part of my commission 


KENILWORTH. 


4i6 

to answer,” said Wayland ; “ I only wish to know if 
yon have what I want, and having it, are willing to 
sell it?” 

“Ay, mein God, for having it, that I have, and 
for selling it, I am a chemist, and sell every drug.” 
So saying, he exhibited a powder, and then contin- 
ued, “But it will cost much monies — Vat I ave 
cost its weight in gold — ay, gold well-refined — I 
vill say six times — It comes from Mount Sinai, 
where we had our blessed Law given forth, and the 
plant blossoms but once in one hundred year.* 

“I do not know how often it is gathered on 
Mount Sinai,” said Wayland, after looking at the 
drug offered him with great disdain, “ but I will 
wager my sword and buckler against your gaber- 
dine, that this trash you offer me, instead of what 
I asked for, may be had for gathering any day of 
the week in the castle-ditch of Aleppo.” 

“ You are a rude man,” said the Jew ; “ and, 
besides, I ave no better than that — or if I ave, I 
will not sell it without order of a physician — or 
without you tell me vat you make of it.” 

The artist made brief answer in a language of 
which Tressilian could not understand a word, and 
which seemed to strike the Jew with the utmost 
astonishment. He stared upon Wayland like one 
who has suddenly recognised some mighty hero or 
dreaded potentate, in the person of an unknown and 
unmarked stranger. “ Holy Elias ! ” he exclaimed, 
when he had recovered the first stunning effects of 
his surprise ; and then passing from his former sus- 
picious and surly manner to the very extremity of 
obsequiousness, he cringed low to the artist, and 
besought him to enter his poor house, to bless his 
miserable threshold by crossing it. 


KENILWORTH. 


217 


“ Vill you not taste a cup vith the poor Jew, 
Zacharias Yoglan ? — Yill you Tokay ave? — vill 
you Lachrymse taste ? — vill you ” 

“You offend in your proffers,” said Wayland; 
“ minister to me in what I require of you, and for- 
bear further discourse.” 

The rebuked Israelite took his bunch of keys, 
and opening with circumspection a cabinet which 
seemed more strongly secured than the other cases 
of drugs and medicines amongst which it stood, he 
drew out a little secret drawer, having a glass lid, 
and containing a small portion of a black powder. 
This he offered to Wayland, his manner conveying 
the deepest devotion towards him, though an ava- 
ricious and jealous expression which seemed to 
grudge every grain of what his customer was about 
to possess himself, disputed ground in his counte- 
nance, with the obsequious deference which he 
desired it should exhibit. 

“ Have you scales ? ” said Wayland. 

The Jew pointed to those which lay ready for 
common use in the shop, but he did so with a puzzled 
expression of doubt and fear, which did not escape 
the artist. 

“They must be other than these,” said Wayland, 
sternly ; “ know you not that holy things lose their 
virtue if weighed in an unjust balance ? ” 

The Jew hung his head, took from a steel-plated 
casket a pair of scales beautifully mounted, and said, 
as he adjusted them for the artist’s use, — “ With 
these I do mine own experiment — one hair of the 
high-priest’s beard would turn them.” 

“It suffices,” said the artist; and weighed out 
two drachms for himself of the black powder, which 
he very carefully folded up, and put into his pouch 


218 


KENILWORTH. 


with the other drugs. He then demanded the price 
of the Jew, who answered, shaking his head and 
bowing, — 

“No price — no, nothing at all from such as you. 
— But you will see the poor Jew again ? you will 
look into his laboratory, where, God help him, he 
hath dried himself to the substance of the withered 
gourd of Jonah the holy prophet — You vill ave pity 
on him, and show him one little step on the great 
road ? ” 

“Hush!” said Wayland, laying his finger mys- 
teriously on his mouth, “ it may be we shall meet 
again — thou hast already the Schahmajm, as thine 
own Rabbis call it — the general creation ; watch, 
therefore, and pray, for thou must attain the know- 
ledge of Alchahest Elixir Samech, ere I may com- 
mune farther with thee.” Then returning with a 
slight nod the reverential congees of the Jew, he 
walked gravely up the lane, followed by his master, 
whose first observation on the scene he had just 
witnessed was, that Wayland ought to have paid the 
man for his drug, whatever it was. 

“ I pay him ? ” said the artist ; “ May the foul fiend 
pay me if I do ! — Had it not been that I thought 
it might displease your worship, I would have had 
an ounce or two of gold out of him, in exchange of 
the same just weight of brick-dust.” 

“ I advise you to practise no such knavery while 
waiting upon me,” said Tressilian. 

“ Hid I not say,” answered the artist, “ that for 
that reason alone, I forbore him for the present ? — 
Knavery, call you it ? — why, yonder wretched skel- 
eton hath wealth sufficient to pave the whole lane 
he lives in with dollars, and scarce miss them out 
of his own iron chest ; yet he goes mad after the 


KENILWORTH. 


219 


philosopher’s stone — and besides, he would have 
cheated a poor serving-man, as he thought me at first, 
with trash that was not worth a penny — Match 
for match, quoth the devil to $ie collier ; if his false 
medicine was worth my good crowns, my true brick- 
dust is as well worth his good gold.” 

“ It may be so for aught I know,” said Tressi- 
lian, “in dealing amongst Jews and apothecaries; 
but understand, that to have such tricks of legerde- 
main practised by one attending on me, diminishes 
my honour, and that I will not permit them. I trust 
thou hast made up thy purchases ?” 

“ I have, sir,” replied Way land ; “ and with these 
drugs will I, this very day, compound the true 
orvietan, that noble medicine which is so seldom 
found genuine and effective within these realms of 
Europe, for want of that most rare and precious 
drug which I got but now from Yoglan .” 1 

“ But why not have made all your purchases at 
one shop ? ” said his master ; “ we have lost nearly 
an hour in running from one pounder of simples to 
another.” 

“ Content you, sir,” said Wayland. “ No man 
shall learn my secret ; and it would not be mine 
long, were I to buy all my materials from one 
chemist.” 

They now returned to their inn, (the famous 
Bell-Savage,) and while the Lord Sussex’s servant 
prepared the horses for their journey, Wayland, ob- 
taining from the cook the service of a mortar, shut 

1 Orvietan, or Venice treacle, as it was sometimes called, was 
understood to be a sovereign remedy against poison ; and the 
reader must be contented, for the time he peruses these pages, 
to hold the same opinion, which was once universally received 
by the learned as well as the vulgar. 


220 


KENILWORTH. 


himself up in a private chamber, where he mixed, 
pounded, and amalgamated the drugs which he had 
bought, each in its due proportion, with a readiness 
and address that plainly showed him well practised 
in all the manual operations of pharmacy. 

By the time Way land’s electuary was prepared 
the horses were ready, and a short hour’s riding 
brought them to the present habitation of Lord 
Sussex, an ancient house, called Say’s Court, near 
Deptford, which had long pertained to a family of 
that name, but had for upwards of a century, been 
possessed by the ancient and honourable family of 
Evelyn. The present representative of that ancient 
house took a deep interest in the Earl of Sussex, 
and had willingly accommodated both him and his 
numerous retinue in his hospitable mansion. Say’s 
Court was afterwards the residence of the celebrated 
Mr. Evelyn, whose “ Silva ” is still the manual of 
British planters; and whose life, manners, and 
principles, as illustrated in his Memoirs, ought 
equally to be the manual of English gentlemen. 


CHAPTER XIV. 


This is rare news thou telTst me, my good fellow ; 

There are two bulls fierce battling on the green 
For one fair heifer — if the one goes down, 

The dale will be more peaceful, and the herd, 

Which have small interest in their brulziement, 

May pasture there in peace. 

Old Play. 


Say’s Court was watched like a beleaguered fort ; 
and so high rose the suspicions of the time, that 
Tressilian and his attendants were stopped and 
questioned repeatedly by sentinels, both on foot 
and horseback, as they approached the abode of the 
sick Earl. In truth, the high rank which Sussex 
held in Queen Elizabeth’s favour, and his known 
and avowed rivalry of the Earl of Leicester, caused 
the utmost importance to be attached to his wel- 
fare ; for, at the period we treat of, all men doubted 
whether he or the Earl of Leicester might ulti- 
mately have the higher rank in her regard. 

Elizabeth, like many of her sex, was fond of gov- 
erning by factions, so as to balance two opposing 
interests, and reserve in her own hand the power of 
making either predominate, as the interest of the 
state, or perhaps as her own female caprice, (for to 
that foible even she was not superior,) might finally 
determine. To finesse — to hold the cards — to 
oppose one interest to another — to bridle him who 
thought himself highest in her esteem, by the fears 


222 


KENILWORTH. 


he must entertain of another equally trusted, if not 
equally beloved, were arts which she used through- 
out her reign, and which enabled her, though fre- 
quently giving way to the weakness of favouritism, 
to prevent most of its evil effects on her kingdom 
and government. 

The two nobles who at present stood as rivals in 
her favour, possessed very different pretensions to 
share it ; yet it might be in general said, that the 
Earl of Sussex had been most serviceable to the 
Queen, while Leicester was most dear to the woman. 
Sussex was, according to the phrase of the times, 
a martialist ; had done good service in Ireland, 
and in Scotland, and especially in the great north- 
ern rebellion, in 1569, which was quelled, in a great 
measure, by his military talents. He was, there- 
fore, naturally surrounded and looked up to by 
those who wished to make arms their road to dis- 
tinction. The Earl of Sussex, moreover, was of 
more ancient and honourable descent than his rival, 
uniting in his person the representation of the 
Eitz-Walters, as well as of the Ratcliffes, while the 
scutcheon of Leicester was stained by the degrada- 
tion of his grandfather, the oppressive minister of 
Henry VII., and scarce improved by that of his 
father, the unhappy Dudley, Duke of Northumber- 
land, executed on Tower-Hill, August 22, 1553. 
But in person, features, and address, weapons so 
formidable in the court of a female sovereign, Lei- 
cester had advantages more than sufficient to coun- 
terbalance the military services, high blood, and 
frank bearing of the Earl of Sussex ; and he bore in 
the eye of the court and kingdom, the higher share 
in Elizabeth’s favour, though (for such was her uni- 
form policy) by no means so decidedly expressed as 


KENILWORTH. 


223 


to warrant him against the final preponderance of 
his rival’s pretensions. The illness of Sussex there- 
fore happened so opportunely for Leicester, (t) as 
to give rise to strange surmises among the public; 
while the followers of the one Earl were filled with 
the deepest apprehensions, and those of the other 
with the highest hopes of its probable issue. Mean- 
while, — for in that old time men never forgot the 
probability that the matter might be determined 
by length of sword, — the retainers of each noble 
flocked around their patron, appeared well armed 
in the vicinity of the court itself, and disturbed the 
ear of the sovereign by their frequent and alarming 
debates, held even within the precincts of her pal- 
ace. This preliminary statement is necessary, to 
render what follows intelligible to the reader . 1 

On Tressilian’s arrival at Say’s Court, he 'found 
the place filled with the retainers of the Earl of Sus- 
sex, and of the gentlemen who came to attend their 
patron in his illness. Arms were in every hand, and 
a deep gloom on every countenance, as if they had 
apprehended an immediate and violent assault from 
the opposite faction. In the hall, however, to which 
Tressilian was ushered by one of the Earl’s attend- 
ants, while another went to inform Sussex of his 
arrival, he found only two gentlemen in waiting. 
There was a remarkable contrast in their dress, 
appearance, and manners. The attire of the elder 
gentleman, a person as it seemed of quality and in 
the prime of life, was very plain and soldierlike, his 
stature low, his limbs stout, his bearing ungraceful, 
and his features of that kind which express sound 
common sense, without a grain of vivacity or ima- 
gination. The younger, who seemed about twenty, 
1 Note III. — Leicester and Sussex 


/ 


KENILWORTH. 


124 

or upwards, was clad in the gayest habit used by 
persons of quality at the period, wearing a crimson 
velvet cloak richly ornamented with lace and em- 
broidery, with a bonnet of the same, encircled with 
a gold chain turned three times round it, and se- 
cured by a medal. His hair was adjusted very 
nearly like that of some fine gentlemen of our own 
time, that is, it was combed upwards, and made to 
stand as it were on end ; and in his ears he wore a 
pair of silver ear-rings, having each a pearl of con- 
siderable size. The countenance of this youth, be- 
sides being regularly handsome and accompanied by 
a fine person, was animated and striking in a degree 
that seemed to speak at once the firmness of a 
decided and the fire of an enterprising character, 
the power of reflection, and the promptitude of 
determination. 

Both these gentlemen reclined nearly in the same 
posture on benches near each other ; but each seem- 
ing engaged in his own meditations, looked straight 
upon the wall which was opposite to them, without 
speaking to his companion. The looks of the elder 
were of that sort which convinced the beholder, 
that, in looking on the wall, he saw no more than 
the side of an old hall hung around with cloaks, 
antlers, bucklers, old pieces of armour, partisans, 
and the. similar articles which were usually the fur- 
niture of such a place. The look of the younger 
gallant had in it something imaginative ; he was 
sunk in reverie, and it seemed as if the empty space 
of air betwixt him and the wall, were the stage of 
a theatre on which his fancy was mustering his 
own dramatis personas, and treating him with sights 
far different from those which his awakened and 
earthly vision could have offered. 


KENILWORTH. 


225 

At the entrance of Tressilian both started from 
their musing, and bade him welcome ; the younger, 
in particular, with great appearance of animation 
and cordiality. 

“ Thou art welcome, Tressilian,” said the youth ; 
“ thy philosophy stole thee from us when this house- 
hold had objects of ambition to offer — it is an 
honest philosophy, since it returns thee to us when 
there are only dangers to be shared.” 

“Is my lord, then, so greatly indisposed?” said 
Tressilian. 

“We fear the very worst,” answered the elder 
gentleman, “ and by the worst practice.” 

“ Fie,” replied Tressilian, “ my Lord of Leicester 
is honourable.” 

“ What doth he with such attendants, then, as he 
hath about him ? ” said the younger gallant. “ The 
man who raises the devil may be honest, but he is 
answerable for the mischief which the fiend does, 
for all that.” 

“ And is this all of you, my mates,” enquired 
Tressilian, “that are about my lord in his utmost 
straits ? ” 

“No, no,” replied the elder gentleman, “there are 
Tracy, Markham, and several more ; but we keep 
watch here by two at once, and some are weary and 
are sleeping in the gallery above.” 

“ And some,” said the young man, “ are gone 
down to the Dock yonder at Deptford, to look out 
such a hulk as they may purchase by clubbing their 
broken fortunes ; and so soon as all is over, we will 
lay our noble lord in a noble green grave, have a 
blow at those who have hurried him thither, if 
opportunity suits, and then sail for the Indies with 
heavy hearts and light purses.” 


226 


KENILWORTH. 


“ It may be,” said Tressilian, “ that I will embrace 
the same purpose, so soon as I have settled some 
business at court.” 

“ Thou business at court ! ” they both exclaimed 
at once ; “ and thou make the Indian voyage ! ” 

“ Why, Tressilian,” said the younger man, “ art 
thou not wedded, and beyond these flaws of fortune, 
that drive folks out to sea when their bark bears 
fairest for the haven ? — What has become of the 
lovely Indamira that was to match my Amoret for 
truth and beauty ? ” 

“ Speak not of her ! ” said Tressilian, averting his 
face. 

“ Ay, stands it so with you ? ” said the youth, 
taking his hand very affectionately ; “ then, fear not I 
will again touch the green wound — But it is strange 
as well as sad news. Are none of our fair and 
merry fellowship to escape shipwreck of fortune 
and happiness in this sudden tempest ? I had hoped 
thou wert in harbour, at least, my dear Edmund — 
But truly says another dear friend of thy name, 

‘ What man that sees the ever whirling wheel 
Of Chance, the which all mortal things doth sway, 

But that thereby doth find and plainly feel, 

How Mutability in them doth play 
Her cruel sports to many men’s decay.’ ” 

The* elder gentleman had risen from his bench, 
and was pacing the hall with some impatience, "while 
the youth, with much earnestness and feeling, re- 
cited these lines. When he had done, the other 
wrapped himself in his cloak, and again stretched 
himself down, saying, “ I marvel, Tressilian, you 
will feed the lad in this silly humour. If there were 
aught to draw a judgment upon a virtuous and 


KMILWORTH. 


227 

honourable household like my lord’s, renounce me 
if I think not it were this piping, whining, childish 
trick of poetry, that came among us with Master 
Walter Witty pate here and his comrades, twisting 
into all manner of uncouth and incomprehensible 
forms of speech, the honest plain English phrase 
which God gave us to express our meaning withal.” 

“Blount believes,” said his comrade, laughing, 
“ the devil woo’d Eve in rhyme, and that the 
mystic meaning of the Tree of Knowledge refers 
solely to the art of clashing rhymes and meting 
out hexameters.” 1 

At this moment the Earl’s chamberlain entered, 
and informed Tressilian that his lord required to 
speak with him. 

He found Lord Sussex dressed, hut unbraced and 
lying on his couch, and was shocked at the altera- 
tion disease had made in his person. The Earl 
received him with the most friendly cordiality, and 
enquired into the state of his courtship. Tressilian 
evaded his enquiries for a moment, and turning his 
discourse on the Earl’s own health, he discovered, to 
his surprise, that the symptoms of his disorder cor- 
responded minutely with those which Way land had 
predicated concerning it. He hesitated not, there- 
fore, to communicate to Sussex the whole history 
of his attendant, and the pretensions he set up to 
cure the disorder under which he laboured. The 
Earl listened with incredulous attention until the 
name of Demetrius was mentioned, and then sud- 
denly called to his secretary to bring him a certain 
casket which contained papers of importance. 
“ Take out from thence,” he said, “ the declaration 
of the rascal cook whom we had under examination, 
1 Note IV. — Sir Walter Raleigh. 


228 


KENILWORTH. 


and look heedfully if the name of Demetrius be not 
there mentioned.” 

The secretary turned to the passage at once, and 
read, 

“ And said declarant, being examined, saith, That he 
remembers having made the sauce to the said sturgeon- 
fish, after eating of which, the said noble Lord was 
taken ill; and lie put the usual ingredients and con- 
diments therein, namely ” 

“Pass over his trash,” said the Earl, “and see 
whether he had not been supplied with his materials 
by a herbalist called Demetrius.” 

“It is even so,” answered the secretary. “And 
he adds, he has not since seen the said Demetrius.” 

“ This accords with thy fellow’s story, Tressilian,” 
said the Earl ; “ call him hither.” 

On being summoned to the Earl’s presence, Way- 
land Smith told his former tale with firmness and 
consistency. 

“ It may be,” said the Earl, “ thou art sent by 
those who have begun this work, to end it for them ; 
but bethink, if I miscarry under thy medicine, it 
may go hard with thee.” 

“ That were severe measure,” said Way land, “ since 
the issue of medicine, and the end of life, are in 
God’s disposal. But I will stand the risk. I have 
not lived so long under ground, to be afraid of a 
grave.” 

“Nay, if thou be’st so confident,” said the Earl of 
Sussex, “ I will take the risk too, for the learned can 
do nothing for me. Tell me how this medicine is 
to be taken.” 

“ That will I do presently,” said Wayland ; “ but 
allow me to condition that, since I incur all the risk 


KENILWORTH. 


229 

of this treatment, no other physician shall be per- 
mitted to interfere with it.” 

“ That is but fair,” replied the Earl ; “ and now 
prepare your drug.” 

While Wayland obeyed the Earl’s commands, his 
servants, by the artist’s direction, undressed their 
master, and placed him in bed. 

“I warn you,” he said, “that the first operation of 
this medicine will be to produce a heavy sleep, dur- 
ing which time the chamber must be kept undis- 
turbed ; as the consequences may otherwise be fatal. 
I myself will watch by the Earl, with any of the 
gentlemen of his chamber.” 

“ Let all leave the room, save Stanley and this 
good fellow,” said the Earl. 

“ And saving me also,” said Tressilian. “ I too am 
deeply interested in the effects of this potion.” 

“ Be it so, good friend,” said the Earl ; “ and now 
for our experiment ; but first call my secretary and 
chamberlain.” 

“ Bear witness,” he continued, when these officers 
arrived, “ bear witness for me, gentlemen, that our 
honourable friend Tressilian is in no way respon- 
sible for the effects which this medicine may pro- 
duce upon me, the taking it being my own free ac- 
tion and choice, in regard I believe it to be a remedy 
which God has furnished me by unexpected means, 
to recover me of my present malady. Commend me 
to my noble and princely Mistress ; and say that T 
live and die her true servant, and wish to all about 
her throne the same singleness of heart and will to 
serve her, with more ability to do so than hath been 
assigned to poor Thomas Ratcliffa” 

He then folded his hands, and seemed for a second 
or two absorbed in mental devotion, then took the 


230 


KENILWORTH. 


potion in his hand, and, pausing, regarded Wayland 
with a look that seemed designed to penetrate his 
very soul, ,but which caused no anxiety or hesitation 
in the countenance or manner of the artist. 

“Here is nothing to be feared,” said Sussex to 
Tressilian ; and swallowed the medicine without 
farther hesitation. 

“ I am now to pray your lordship,” said Wayland, 
“ to dispose yourself to rest as commodiously as you 
can ; and of you, gentlemen, to remain as still and 
mute as if you waited at your mother’s deathbed.” 

The chamberlain a{id secretary then withdrew, 
giving orders that all doors should be bolted, and 
all noise in the house strictly prohibited. Several 
gentlemen were voluntary watchers in the hall, but 
none remained in the chamber of the sick Earl, save 
his groom of the chamber, the artist, and Tressilian. 
— Wayland Smith’s predictions were speedily ac- 
complished, and a sleep fell upon the Earl, so deep 
and sound, that they who watched his bedside began 
to fear, that, in his weakened state, he might pass 
away without awakening from his lethargy. Way- 
land Smith himself appeared anxious, and felt the 
temples of the Earl slightly, from time to time, at- 
tending particularly to the state of his respiration, 
which was full and deep but at the same time easy 
and uninterrupted. 


CHAPTER XV. 


You loggerheaded and unpolish’d grooms, 

What, no attendance, no regard, no duty ? 

Where is the foolish knave I sent before T 

Taming of the Shrew. 

There is no period at which men look worse in 
the eyes of each other, or feel more uncomfortable, 
than when the first dawn of daylight finds them 
watchers. Even a beauty of the first order, after 
the vigils of a ball are interrupted by the dawn, 
would do wisely to withdraw herself from the gaze 
of her fondest and most partial admirers. Such was 
the pale, inauspicious, and ungrateful light, which 
began to beam upon those who kept watch all night, 
in the hall at Say’s Court, and which mingled its 
cold, pale, blue diffusion with the red, yellow, and 
smoky beams of expiring lamps and torches. The 
young gallant, whom we noticed in our last chapter, 
had left the room for a few minutes, to learn the 
cause of a knocking at the outward gate, and on his 
return, was so struck with the forlorn and ghastly 
aspects of his companions of the watch, that he ex- 
claimed, “ Pity of my heart, my masters, how like 
owls you look ! Methinks, when the sun rises, I 
shall see you flutter off with your eyes dazzled, to 
stick yourselves into the next ivy-tod or ruined 
steeple.” 

“Hold thy peace, thou gibing fool,” said Blount j 
“ hold thy peace. Is this a time for jeering, when 


232 


KENILWORTH. 


the manhood of England is perchance dying within 
a wall’s breadth of thee ? ” 

“ There thou best,” replied the gallant. 

“ How, lie ! ” exclaimed Blount, starting up, “ lie ! 
and to me ? ” 

“ Why, so thou didst, thou peevish fool,” answered 
the youth ; “ thou didst lie on that bench even now, 
didst thou not ? But art thou not a hasty coxcomb, 
to pick up a wry word so wrathfully ? Neverthe- 
less, loving and honouring my lord as truly as thou, 
or any one, I do say, that should Heaven take him 
from us, all England’s manhood dies not with him.” 

“ Ay,” replied Blount, “ a good portion will survive 
with thee, doubtless.” 

“And a good portion with thyself, Blount, and 
with stout Markham here, and Tracy, and all of us. 
But I am he will best employ the talent Heaven 
has given to us all.” 

“ As how, I prithee ? ” said Blount ; " tell us your 
mystery of multiplying.” 

“ Why, sirs,” answered the youth, " ye are like 
goodly land, which bears no crop because it is not 
quickened by manure ; but I have that rising spirit 
in me, which will make my poor faculties labour to 
keep pace with it. My ambition will keep my brain 
at work, I warrant thee.” 

“ I pray to God it does not drive thee mad,” said 
Blount ; “ for my part, if we lose our noble lord, I 
bid adieu to the court and to the camp both. I have 
five hundred foul acres in Norfolk, and thither will 
I, and change the court pantoufle for the country 
hobnail.” 

“ 0 base transmutation ! ” exclaimed his antago- 
nist ; “ thou hast already got the true rustic slouch 
— thy shoulders stoop, as if thine hands were at the 


KENILWORTH. 


233 


stilts of the plough, and thou hast a kind of earthy 
smell about thee, instead of being perfumed with es- 
sence, as a gallant and courtier should. On my soul, 
thou hast stolen out to roll thyself on a hay mow * 
Thy only excuse will be to swear by thy hilts, that 
the farmer had a fair daughter.” 

“ I pray thee, Walter,” said another of the com 
pany, “ cease thy raillery, which suits neither time 
nor place, and tell us who was at the gate just now.” 

“Doctor Masters, physician to her Grace in or- 
dinary, sent by her especial orders to enquire after 
the Earl’s health,” answered Walter. 

“ Ha ! what ! ” exclaimed Tracy, “ that was no slight 
mark of favour ; if the Earl can but come through, 
he will match with Leicester yet. Is Masters with 
my lord at present ? ” 

“ Nay,” replied Walter, “ he is half way back to 
Greenwich by this time, and in high dudgeon.” 

“ Thou didst not refuse him admittance ? ” ex- 
claimed Tracy. 

“ Thou wert not, surely, so mad ? ” ejaculated 
Blount. 

“ I refused him admittance as flatly, Blount, as you 
would refuse a penny to a blind beggar; as obsti- 
nately, Tracy, as thou didst ever deny access to a dun.” 

“ Why, in the fiend’s name, didst thou trust him to 
go to the gate ? ” said Blount to Tracy. 

“ It suited his years better than mine,” answered 
Tracy ; “ but he has undone us all now thoroughly. 
My lord may live or die, he will never have a look of 
favour from her Majesty again.” 

“ Nor the means of making fortunes for his follow- 
ers,” said the young gallant, smiling contemptuously ; 
— “ there lies the sore point that will brook no 
handling. My good sirs, I sounded my lamentations 


234 


KENILWORTH. 


over my lord somewhat less loudly than some of 
you ; but when the point comes of doing him service, 
I will yield to none of you. Had this learned leech 
entered, thinkst thou not there had been such a coil 
betwixt him and Tressilian’s mediciner, that not the 
sleeper only, but the very dead might have awak- 
ened ? I know what larum belongs to the discord of 
doctors.” 

“And who is to take the blame of opposing the 
Queen’s orders ? ” said Tracy : “ for, undeniably, Doc- 
tor Masters came with her Grace’s positive com- 
mands to cure the Earl.” 

“ I, who have done the wrong, will bear the blame,” 
said Walter. 

“ Thus, then, off fly the dreams of court favour thou 
hast nourished,” said Blount ; “ and despite all thy 
boasted art and ambition, Devonshire will see thee 
shine a true younger brother, fit to sit low at the 
board, carve turn about with the chaplain, look that 
the hounds be fed, and see the squire’s girths drawn 
when he goes a-hunting.” 

“ Not so,” said the young man, colouring, “ not 
while Ireland and the Netherlands have wars, and 
not while the sea hath pathless waves. The rich 
West hath lands undreamed of, and Britain contains 
bold hearts to venture on the quest of them. — Adieu 
for a space, my masters. I go to walk in the court 
and look to the sentinels.” 

“The lad hath quicksilver in his veins, that is 
certain,” said Blount, looking at Markham. 

“ He hath that both in brain and blood,” said Mark- 
ham, “ which may either make or mar him. But, in 
closing the door against Masters, he hath done a dar- 
ing and loving piece of service ; for Tressilian’s fel- 
low hath ever averred, that to wake the Earl were 


ItMILWOttitt. 


death, and Masters would wake the Seven Sleepers 
themselves, if he thought they slept not by the reg- 
ular ordinance of medicine.” 

Morning was well advanced, when Tressilian, fa- 
tigued and over-watched, came down to the hall with 
the joyful intelligence, that the Ear] had awakened 
of himself, that he found his internal complaints 
much mitigated, and spoke with a cheerfulness, and 
looked round with a vivacity, which of themselves 
showed a material and favourable change had taken 
place. Tressilian at the same time commanded the 
attendance of one or two of his followers, to report 
what had passed during the night, and to relieve the 
watchers in the Earl’s chamber. 

When the message of the Queen was communi- 
cated to the Earl of Sussex, he at first smiled at the 
repulse which the physician had received from his 
zealous young follower, but instantly recollecting 
himself, he commanded Blount, his master of the 
horse, instantly to take boat, and go down the river 
to the Palace of Greenwich, taking young Walter 
and Tracy with him, and ^nake a suitable compli- 
ment, expressing his grateful thanks to his Sovereign, 
and mentioning the cause why he had not been 
enabled to profit by the assistance of the wise and 
learned Doctor Masters. 

« A plague on it,” said Blount, as he descended the 
stairs, “ had he sent me with a cartel to Leicester, I 
think I should have done his errand indifferently 
well. But to go to our gracious Sovereign, before 
whom all words must be lackered over either with 
gilding or with sugar, is such a confectionary matter as 
clean baffles my poor old English brain. — Come with 
me, Tracy, and come you too, Master Walter Witty- 
pate, that art the cause of our having all this ado. 


236 


KENILWORTH. 


Let us see if thy neat brain, that frames so many 
flashy fireworks, can help out a plain fellow at need 
with some of thy shrewd devices.” 

“ Never fear, never fear,” exclaimed the youth, “ it 
is I will help you through — let me but fetch my 
cloak.” 

“ Why, thou hast it on thy shoulders,” said Blount, 

— “ the lad is mazed.” 

“ No, no, this is Tracy’s old mantle,” answered 
Walter; “I go not with thee to court unless as a 
gentleman should.” 

“Why,” said Blount, “thy braveries are like to 
dazzle the eyes of none but some poor groom or 
porter” 

“ I know that,” said the youth ; “ but I am re- 
solved I will have my own cloak, ay, and brush my 
doublet to boot, ere I stir forth with you.” 

“Well, well,” said Blount, “here is a coil about 
a doublet and a cloak — get thyself ready, a God’s 
name ! ” 

They were soon launched on the princely bosom 
of the broad Thames, upcm which the sun now shone 
forth in all its splendour. 

“ There are two things scarce matched in the 
universe,” said Walter to Blount, — “ the sun in 
heaven, and the Thames on the earth.” 

“ The one will light us to Greenwich well enough,” 
said Blount, “ and the other would take us there 
a little faster if it were ebb tide.” 

“ And this is all thou think’st — all thou carest 

— all thou deem’st the use of the King of Elements, 
and the King of Rivers, to guide three such poor 
caitiffs, as thyself, and me, and Tracy, upon an idle 
journey of courtly ceremony ! ” 

“ It is no errand of my seeking, faith,” replied 


KENILWORTH. 


237 


Blount, “ and I could excuse both the sun and the 
Thames the trouble of carrying me where I have 
no great mind to go ; and where I expect but dog’s 
wages for my trouble — and by my honour,” he 
added, looking out from the head of the boat, “ it 
seems to me as if our message were a sort of labour 
in vain ; for see, the Queen’s barge lies at the stairs, 
as if her Majesty were about to take water.” 

It was even so. The royal barge, manned with 
the Queen’s watermen, richly attired in the regal 
liveries, and having the banner of England displayed,, 
did indeed lie at the great stairs which ascended 
from the river, and along with it two or three 
other boats for transporting such part of her retinue 
as were not in immediate attendance on the royal 
person. The yeomen of the guard, the tallest and 
most handsome men whom England could produce, 
guarded with their halberds the passage from the 
palace-gate to the river side, and all seemed in 
readiness for the Queen’s coming forth, although 
the day was yet so early. 

“By my faith, this bodes us no good,” said 
Blount ; “ it must be some perilous cause puts her 
Grace in motion thus untimeously. By my counsel, 
we were best put back again, and tell the Earl 
what we have seen.” 

" Tell the Earl what we have seen ! ” said Wal- 
ter ; “ why, what have we seen but a boat, and men 
with scarlet jerkins, and halberds in their hands ? 
Let us do his errand, and tell him what the Queen 
says in reply.” 

So saying, he caused the boat to be pulled towards 
a landing-place at some distance from the principal 
one, which it would not, at that moment, have been 
thought respectful to approach, and jumped on shore, 


KENILWORTH. 


238 

followed, though with reluctance, by his cautious 
and timid companions. As they approached the gate 
of the palace, one of the sergeant porters told them 
they could not at present enter, as her Majesty was 
in the act of coming forth. The gentlemen used the 
name of the Earl of Sussex ; but it proved no charm 
to subdue the officer, who alleged in reply, that it 
was as much as his post was worth, to disobey in 
the least tittle the commands which he had received. 

“ Nay, I told you as much before,” said Blount ; 
“ do, I pray you, my dear Walter, let us take boat 
and return.” 

“ Not till I see the Queen come forth,” returned 
the youth, composedly. 

“ Thou art mad, stark mad, by the mass ! ” answered 
Blount. 

“And thou,” said Walter, “art turned coward of 
the sudden. I have seen thee face half a score 
of shag-headed Irish kernes to thy own share of 
them, and now thou wouldst blink and go back to 
shun the frown of a fair lady ! ” 

At this moment the gates opened, and ushers 
began to issue forth in array, preceded and flanked 
by the band of Gentlemen Pensioners. After this, 
amid a crowd of lords and ladies, yet so disposed 
around her that she could see and be seen on all 
sides, came Elizabeth herself, then in the prime of 
womanhood, and in the full glow of what in a 
Sovereign was called beauty, and who would in the 
lowest rank of life have been truly judged a noble 
figure, joined to a striking and commanding phy- 
siognomy. She leant on the arm of Lord Hunsdon, 
whose relation to her by her mother’s side often 
procured him such distinguished marks of Eliza- 
beth’s intimacy. 


KENILWORTH. 


239 


The young cavalier we have so often mentioned 
had probably never yet approached so near the per- 
son of his Sovereign, and he pressed forward as far 
as the line of warders permitted, in order to avail 
himself of the present opportunity. His companion, 
on the contrary, cursing his imprudence, kept pull- 
ing him backwards, till Walter shook him off im- 
patiently, and letting his rich cloak drop carelessly 
from one shoulder ; a natural action, which served, 
however, to display to the best advantage his well- 
proportioned person. Unbonneting at the same 
time, he fixed his eager gaze on the Queen’s ap- 
proach, with a mixture of respectful curiosity, and 
modest yet ardent admiration, which suited so well 
with his fine features, that the warders, struck with 
his rich attire and noble countenance, suffered him 
to approach the ground over which the Queen was 
to pass, somewhat closer than was permitted to 
ordinary spectators. Thus the adventurous youth 
stood full in Elizabeth’s eye, — an eye never indif- 
ferent to the admiration which she deservedly ex- 
cited among her subjects, or to the fair proportions 
of external form which chanced to distinguish any 
of her courtiers. Accordingly, she fixed her keen 
glance on the youth, as she approached the place 
where he stood, with a look in which surprise at his 
boldness seemed to be unmingled with resentment, 
while a trifling accident happened which attracted 
her attention towards him yet more strongly. The 
night had been rainy, and just where the young 
gentleman stood, a small quantity of mud inter- 
rupted the Queen’s passage. As she hesitated to 
pass on, the gallant, throwing his cloak from his 
shoulders, laid it on the miry spot, so as to ensure her 
stepping over it dry-shod. Elizabeth looked at 


240 


KENILWORTH. 


the young man, who accompanied this act of devoted 
courtesy with a profound reverence, and a blush that 
overspread his whole countenance. The Queen was 
confused, and blushed in her turn, nodded her 
head, hastily passed on, and embarked in her barge 
without saying a word. 

“ Come along, Sir Coxcomb,” said Blount ; “ your 
gay cloak will need the brush to-day, I wot. Nay, 
if you had meant to make a foot-cloth of your 
mantle, better have kept Tracy's old drab-de-bure, 
which despises all colours.” 

“This cloak,” said the youth, taking it up and 
folding it, “ shall never be brushed while in my 
possession.” 

“ And that will not be long, if you learn not a 
little more economy — we shall have you in cuerpo 
soon, as the Spaniard says.” 

Their discourse was here interrupted by one of 
the Band of Pensioners. 

“ I was sent,” said he, after looking at them at- 
tentively, “ to a gentleman who hath no cloak, or 
a muddy one. — You, sir, I think,” addressing the 
younger cavalier, “ are the man ; you will please to 
follow me.” 

“ He is in attendance on me,” said Blount ; “ on 
me, the noble Earl of Sussex's master of horse.” 

“ I have nothing to say to that,” answered the 
messenger ; “ my orders are directly from her Ma- 
jesty, and concern this gentleman only.” 

So saying, he walked away, followed by Walter, 
leaving the others behind, Blount's eyes almost 
starting from his head with the excess of his aston- 
ishment. At length he gave vent to it in an excla- 
mation — “ Who the good jere would have thought 
this ! ” And shaking his head with a mysterious 






































KENILWORTH. 


241 


air, he walked to his own boat, embarked, and re- 
turned to Deptford. 

The young cavalier was, in the meanwhile, guided 
to the water-side by the Pensioner, who showed him 
considerable respect ; a circumstance which, to per- 
sons in his situation, may be considered as an au- 
gury of no small consequence. He ushered him 
into one of the wherries which lay ready to attend 
the Queen’s barge, which was already proceeding 
up the river, with the advantage of that flood-tide, 
of which, in the course of their descent, Blount had 
complained to his associates. 

The two rowers used their oars with such expe- 
dition at the signal of the Gentleman Pensioner, 
that they very soon brought their little skiff under 
the stern of the Queen’s boat, where she sate be- 
neath an awning, attended by two or three ladies, 
and the nobles of her household. She looked more 
than once at the wherry in which the young adven- 
turer was seated, spoke to those around her, and 
seemed to laugh. At length one of the attendants, 
by the Queen’s order apparently, made a sign for 
the wherry to come alongside, and the young man 
was desired to step from his own skiff into the 
Queen’s barge, which he performed with graceful 
agility at the fore part of the boat, and was brought 
aft to the Queen’s presence, the wherry at the same 
time dropping into the rear. The youth underwent 
the gaze of Majesty, not the less gracefully that his 
self-possession was mingled with embarrassment. 
The muddied cloak still hung upon his arm, and 
formed the natural topic with which the Queen in- 
troduced the conversation. 

“ You have this day spoiled a gay mantle in our 
behalf, young man. We thank you for your ser* 


242 


KENILWORTH. 


vice, though the manner of offering it was unusual* 
and something bold.” 

“ In a sovereign’s need,” answered the youth, “ it 
is each liege-man’s duty to be bold.” 

“ God’s pity ! that was well said, my lord,” said 
the Queen, turning to a grave person who sate by 
her, and answered with a grave inclination of the 
head, and something of a mumbled assent. “ Well, 
young man, your gallantry shall not go unrewarded. 
Go to the wardrobe keeper, and he shall have orders 
to supply the suit which you have cast away in 
our service. Thou shalt have a suit, and that of 
the newest cut, I promise thee, on the word of a 
princess.” 

“ May it please your Grace,” said Walter, hesi- 
tating, “ it is not for so humble a servant of your 
Majesty to measure out your bounties ; but if it 
became me to choose ” 

“ Thou wouldst have gold, I warrant me,” said 
the Queen, interrupting him ; “ fie, young man ! I 
take shame to say, that, in our capital, such and 
so various are the means of thriftless folly, that to 
give gold to youth is giving fuel to fire, and furnish- 
ing them with the means of self-destruction. If I 
live and reign, these means of unchristian excess 
shall be abridged. Yet thou rnayst be poor,” she 
added, “ or thy parents may be — It shall be gold, 
if thou wilt, but thou shalt answer to me for the 
use on’t.” 

Walter waited patiently until the Queen had 
done, and then modestly assured her, that gold was 
still less in his wish than the raiment her majesty 
had before offered. 

“ How, boy ! ” said the Queen, “ neither gold nor gar- 
ment ? What is it thou wouldst have of me, then ? ” 


KENILWORTH. 


243 


‘ Only permission, madam — if it is not asking 
too high an honour — permission to wear the cloak 
which did you this trifling service.” 

“ Permission to wear thine own cloak, thou silly 
boy ! ” said the Queen. 

“ It is no longer mine,” said Walter ; “ when 
your Majesty’s foot touched it, it became a fit 
mantle for a prince, but far too rich a one for its 
former owner.” 

The Queen again blushed ; and endeavoured to 
cover, by laughing, a slight degree of not unpleas- 
ing surprise and confusion. 

“ Heard you ever the like, my lords ? The youth’s 
head is turned with reading romances — I must 
know something of him, that I may send him safe 
to his friends. — What art thou ? ” 

“A gentleman of the household of the Earl of 
Sussex, so please your Grace, sent hither with his 
master of horse, upon a message to your Majesty.” 

In a moment the gracious expression which Eliz- 
abeth’s face had hitherto maintained, gave way to 
an expression of haughtiness and severity. 

“ My Lord of Sussex,” she said, “ has taught us 
how to regard his messages, by the value he places 
upon ours. We sent but this morning the physi- 
cian in ordinary of our chamber, and that at no 
usual time, understanding his lordship’s illness to 
be more dangerous than we had before apprehended. 
There is at no court in Europe a man more skilled 
in this holy and most useful science than Doctor 
Masters, and he came from Us to our subject. 
Nevertheless, he found the gate of Say’s Court de- 
fended by men with culverins, as if it had been on 
the Borders of Scotland, not in the vicinity of our 
court; and when he demanded admittance in oui 


244 


KENILWORTH. 


name, it was stubbornly refused. For this slight 
of a kindness, which had but too much of conde- 
scension in it, we will receive, at present at least, 
no excuse ; and some such we suppose to have been 
the purport of my Lord of Sussex’s message.” 

This was uttered in a tone, and with a gesture, 
which made Lord Sussex’s friends who were within 
hearing tremble. He to whom the speech was 
addressed, however, trembled not; but with great 
deference and humility, as soon as the Queen’s pas- 
sion gave him an opportunity, he replied : — “So 
please your most gracious Majesty, I was charged 
with no apology from the Earl of Sussex.” 

“ With what were you then charged, sir ? ” said 
the Queen, with the impetuosity which, amid no- 
bler qualities, strongly marked her character ; “ was 
it with a justification ? — or, God’s death ! with a 
defiance ? ” 

“ Madam,” said the young man, “ my Lord of 
Sussex knew the offence approached towards trea- 
son, and could think of nothing save of securing the 
offender, and placing him in your Majesty’s hands, 
and at your mercy. The noble Earl was fast asleep 
when your most gracious message reached him, a 
potion having been administered to that purpose by 
his physician ; and his Lordship knew not of the 
ungracious repulse your Majesty’s royal and most 
comfortable message had received, until after he 
awoke this morning.” 

“ And which of his domestics, then, in the name 
of Heaven, presumed to reject my message, without 
even admitting my own physician to the presence 
of him whom I sent him to attend ? ” said the Queen, 
much surprised. 

“ The offender, madam, is before you,” replied 


KENILWORTH. 


24s 


Walter, bowing very low; “ the full and sole blame 
is mine ; and my lord has most justly sent me to 
abye the consequences of a fault, of which he is as 
innocent as a sleeping man’s dreams can be of a 
waking man’s actions.” 

“ What ! was it thou ? — thou thyself, that re- 
pelled my messenger and my physician from Say’s 
Court ? ” said the Queen. “ What could occasion such 
boldness in one who seems devoted — that is, whose 
exterior bearing shows devotion — to his Sovereign ? ” 

“Madam,” said the youth, — who, notwithstand- 
ing an assumed appearance of severity, thought that 
he saw something in the Queen’s face that re- 
sembled not implacability, — “ we say in our country, 
that the physician is for the time the liege sovereign 
of his patient. Now, my noble master was then 
under dominion of a leech, by whose advice he hath 
greatly profited, who had issued his commands that 
his patient should not that night be disturbed, on 
the very peril of his life.” 

“Thy master hath trusted some false varlet of 
an empiric,” said the Queen. 

“ I know not, madam, but by the fact, that he is 
now — this very morning — awakened much re- 
freshed and strengthened, from the only sleep he 
hath had for many hours.” 

The nobles looked at each other, but more with 
the purpose to see what each thought of this news, 
than to exchange any remarks on what had hap- 
pened. The Queen answered hastily, and without 
affecting to disguise her satisfaction, “ By my word, 
I am glad he is better. But thou wert over bold 
to deny the access of my Doctor Masters. Know’st 
thou not the Holy Writ saith, ‘ in the multitude of 
counsel there is safety ? * ” 


246 KENILWORTH. 

“ Ay, madam,” said Walter, “ but I have heard 
learned men say, that the safety spoken of is for the 
physicians, not for the patient.” 

“ By my faith, child, thou hast pushed me home,” 
said the Queen, laughing ; “ for my Hebrew learn- 
ing does not come quite at a call. — How say you, 
my Lord of Lincoln ? Hath the lad given a just 
interpretation of the text ? ” 

“ The word safety , most gracious madam,” said 
the Bishop of Lincoln, “for so hath been trans- 
lated, it may be somewhat hastily, the Hebrew word, 
being ” 

“ My lord,” said the Queen, interrupting him, 
“ we said we had forgotten our Hebrew. — But for 
thee, young man, what is thy name and birth ? ” 

“ Raleigh is my name, most gracious Queen, the 
youngest son of a large but honourable family of 
.Devonshire.” 

“ Raleigh ? ” said Elizabeth, after a moment’s 
recollection ; “ have we not heard of your service in 
Ireland ? ” 

“ I have been so fortunate as to do some service 
there, madam,” replied Raleigh, “ scarce, however, 
of consequence sufficient to reach your Grace’s 
ears.” 

“ They hear farther than you think of,” said the 
Queen, graciously, “ and have heard of a youth who 
defended a ford in Shannon against a whole band of 
wild Irish rebels, until the stream ran purple with 
their blood and his own.” 

“Some blood I may have lost,” said the youth, 
looking down, “ but it was where my best is due ; 
and that is in your Majesty’s service.” 

. The Queen paused, and then said hastily, “ You 
are very young, to have fought so well, and to speak 


KENILWORTH. 


247 


so well. But you must not escape your penance 
for turning back Masters — the poor man hath 
caught cold on the river ; for our order reached him 
when he was just returned from certain visits in 
London, and he held it matter of loyalty and con- 
science instantly to set forth again. So hark ye, 
Master Raleigh, see thou fail not to wear thy muddy 
cloak, in token of penitence, till our pleasure be 
farther known. And here,” she added, giving him 
a jewel of gold, in the form of a chess-man, “ I give 
thee this to wear at the collar.” 

Raleigh, to whom nature had taught intuitively, 
as it were, those courtly arts which many scarce 
acquire from long experience, knelt, and, as he took 
from her hand the jewel, kissed the fingers which 
gave it. He knew, perhaps, better than almost any 
of the courtiers who surrounded her, how to mingle 
the devotion claimed by the Queen, with the gal- 
lantry due to her personal beauty — and in this, his 
first attempt to unite them, he succeeded so well, 
as at once to gratify Elizabeth’s personal vanity, 
and her love of power . 1 

His master, the Earl of Sussex, had the full 
advantage of the satisfaction which Raleigh had 
afforded Elizabeth, on their first interview. 

“ My lords and ladies,” said the Queen, looking 
around to the retinue by whom she was attended, 
“ methinks, since we are upon the river, it were 
well to renounce our present purpose of going to 
the city, and surprise this poor Earl of Sussex with 
a visit. He is ill, and suffering doubtless under the 
fear of our displeasure, from which he hath been 
honestly cleared by the frank avowal of this mala- 
pert boy. What think ye ? were it not an act of 

1 Note V — Court favour of Sir Walter Raleigh. 


248 


KENILWORTH. 


charity to give him such consolation as the thanks 
of a Queen, much bound to him for his loyal ser- 
vice, may perchance best minister ? ’* 

It may be readily supposed, that none to whom 
this speech was addressed, ventured to oppose its 
purport. 

“ Your Grace,” said the Bishop of Lincoln, “ is 
the breath of our nostrils.” The men of war averred, 
that the face of the Sovereign was a whetstone to 
the soldier’s sword ; while the men of state were 
not less of opinion, that the light of the Queen’s 
countenance was a lamp to the paths of her coun- 
cillors ; and the ladies agreed, with one voice, that 
no noble in England so well deserved the regard 
of England’s Royal Mistress as the Earl of Sussex 
— the Earl of Leicester’s right being reserved 
entire ; so some of the more politic worded their 
assent — an exception to which Elizabeth paid no 
apparent attention. The barge had, therefore, orders 
to deposit its royal freight at Deptford, at the near- 
est and most convenient point of communication 
with Say’s Court, in order that the Queen might 
satisfy her royal and maternal solicitude, by making 
personal enquiries after the health of the Earl of 
Sussex. 

Raleigh, whose acute spirit foresaw and antici- 
pated important consequences from the most trifling 
events, hastened to ask the Queen’s permission to 
go in the skiff, and announce the royal visit to his 
master ; ingeniously suggesting, that the joyful sur- 
prise might prove prejudicial to his health, since the 
richest and most generous cordials may sometimes 
be fatal to those who have been long in a languish- 
ing state. 

But whether the Queen deemed it too presump- 


KENILWORTH. 


249 


tuous in so young a courtier to interpose his opinion 
unasked, or whether she was moved by a recurrence 
of the feeling of jealousy, which had been instilled 
into her, by reports that the Earl kept armed men 
about his person, she desired Raleigh, sharply, to 
reserve his counsel till it was required of him, and 
repeated her former orders, to be landed at Dept- 
ford, adding, “ we will ourselves see what sort of 
household my Lord of Sussex keeps about him.” 

“ Now the Lord have pity on us ! ” said the young 
courtier to himself. “Good hearts, the Earl hath 
many a one round him ; but good heads are scarce 
with us — and he himself is too ill to give direction. 
And Blount will be at his morning meal of Yar- 
mouth herrings and ale ; and Tracy will have his 
beastly black puddings and Rhenish ; — those thor- 
ough-paced Welshmen, Thomas ap Rice and Evan 
Evans, will be at work on their leek porridge and 
toasted cheese — and she detests, they say, all coarse 
meats, evil smells, and strong wines. Could they 
but think of burning some rosemary in the great 
hall ! but vogue la galere , all must now be trusted 
to chance. Luck hath done indifferent well for me 
this morning, for I trust I have spoiled a cloak, and 
made a court fortune — May she do as much for my 
gallant patron ! ” 

The royal barge soon stopped at Deptford, and, 
amid the loud shouts of the populace, which her 
presence never failed to excite, the Queen, with a 
canopy borne over her head, walked, accompanied 
by her retinue, towards Say’s Court, where the dis- 
tant acclamations of the people gave the first notice 
of her arrival. Sussex, who was in the act of advis- 
ing with Tressilian how he should make up the 
supposed breach in the Queen’s favour, was infi- 


250 


KENILWORTH. 


nitely surprised at learning her immediate approach 
— not that the Queen’s custom of visiting her more 
distinguished nobility, whether in health or sick- 
ness, could be unknown to him ; but the suddenness 
of the communication left no time for those prepar- 
ations with which he well knew Elizabeth loved 
to be greeted, and the rudeness and confusion of 
his military household, much increased by his late 
illness, rendered him altogether unprepared for her 
reception. 

Cursing internally the chance which thus brought 
her gracious visitation on him unaware, he hastened 
down with Tressilian, to whose eventful and inter- 
esting story he had just given an attentive ear. 

“ My worthy friend,” he said, “ such support as 
I can give your accusation of Yarney, you have a 
right to expect, alike from justice and gratitude. 
Chance will presently show whether I can do aught 
with our Sovereign, or whether, in very deed, my 
meddling in your affair may not rather prejudice 
than serve you.” 

Thus spoke Sussex, while hastily casting around 
him a loose robe of sables, and adjusting his person 
in the best manner he could to meet the eye of his 
Sovereign. But no hurried attention bestowed on 
his apparel could remove the ghastly effects of long 
illness on a countenance which nature had marked 
with features rather strong than pleasing. Besides, 
he was low of stature, and, though broad-shouldered, 
athletic, and fit for martial achievements, his pres- 
ence in a peaceful hall was not such as ladies love 
to look upon ; a personal disadvantage, which was 
supposed to give Sussex, though esteemed and hon- 
oured by his Sovereign, considerable disadvantage 
when compared with Leicester, who was alike re- 


KENILWORTH. 


251 


markable for elegance of manners, and for beauty' 
of person. 

The Earl's utmost dispatch only enabled him to 
meet the Queen as she entered the great hall, and 
he at once perceived there was a cloud on her brow. 
Her jealous eye had noticed the martial array of 
armed gentlemen and retainers with which the man- 
sion-house was filled, and her first words expressed 
her disapprobation — “ Is this a royal garrison, my 
Lord of Sussex, that it holds so many pikes and 
calivers ? or have we by accident overshot Say’s 
Court, and landed at our Tower of London ? ” 

Lord Sussex hastened to offer some apology. 

“ It needs not,” she said. “ My lord, we intend 
speedily to take up a certain quarrel between your 
lordship and another great lord of our household, 
and at the same time to reprehend this uncivilized 
and dangerous practice of Surrounding yourselves 
with armed, and even with ruffianly followers, as if, 
in the neighbourhood of our capital, nay in the very 
verge of our royal residence, you were preparing to 
wage civil war with each other. We are glad to see 
you so well recovered, my lord, though without the 
assistance of the learned physician whom we sent 
to you — Urge no excuse — we know how that mat- 
ter fell out, and we have corrected for it the wild 
slip, young Raleigh. — By the way, my lord, we will 
speedily relieve your household of him, and take 
him into our own. Something there is about him 
which merits to be better nurtured than he is like 
to be amongst your very military followers.” 

To this proposal Sussex, though scarce under- 
standing how the Queen came to make it, could 
only bow and express his acquiescence. He then 
entreated her to remain till refreshment could be 


252 


KENILWORTH. 


’offered, but in this he could not prevail. And, after 
a few compliments of a much colder and more com- 
monplace character than might have been expected 
from a step so decidedly favourable as a personal 
visit, the Queen took her leave of Say’s Court, 
having brought confusion thither along with her 
and leaving doubt and apprehension behind. 


CHAPTER XYI. 


Then call them to our presence. Face to face. 

And frowning brow to brow, ourselves will hear 
The accuser and accused freely speak ; — 

High-stomach’d are they both and full of ire, 

In rage deaf as the sea, hasty as fire. 

Richard II. 

“ I am ordered to attend court to-morrow,” said 
Leicester, speaking to Varney, “to meet, as they 
surmise, my Lord of Sussex. The Queen intends 
to take up matters betwixt us. This comes of her 
visit to Say’s Court, of which you must needs speak 
so lightly.” 

“I maintain it was nothing,” said Varney; “nay, 
I know from a sure intelligencer, who was within 
ear-shot of much that was said, that Sussex has lost 
rather than gained by that visit. The Queen said,, 
when she stepped into the boat, that Say’s Court 
looked like a guard-house, and smelt like an hos- 
pital. 4 Like a cook’s shop in Ram’s Alley, rather,’ 
said the Countess of Rutland, who is ever your lord- 
ship’s good friend. And then my Lord of Lincoln 
must needs put in his holy oar, and say, that my 
Lord of Sussex must be excused for his rude and 
old-world housekeeping, since he had as yet no 
wife.” 

“And what said the Queen?” asked Leicester, 
hastily. 

“ She took him up roundly,” said Varney, “ and 
asked what my Lord Sussex had to do with a wife, 


2$4 


KENILWORTH. 


or my Lord Bishop to speak on such a subject. * If 
marriage is permitted,’ she said, ‘I nowhere read 
that it is enjoined.’ ” 

“ She likes not marriages, or speech of marriage, 
among churchmen,” said Leicester. 

“Nor among courtiers neither,” said Varney; 
but, observing that Leicester changed countenance, 
he instantly added, “ that all the ladies who were 
present had joined in ridiculing Lord Sussex’s house- 
keeping, and in contrasting it with the reception her 
Grace would have assuredly received at my Lord 
of Leicester’s.” 

“ You have gathered much tidings,” said Leices- 
ter, “but you have forgotten or omitted the most 
important of all. She hath added another to those 
dangling satellites, whom it is her pleasure to keep 
revolving around her.” 

“ Your lordship meaneth that Raleigh, the Devon- 
shire youth,” said Varney, “the Knight of the 
Cloak, as they call him at court?” 

“ He may be Knight of the Garter one day, for 
aught I know,” said Leicester, “for he advances 
rapidly — She hath cap’d verses with him, and such 
fooleries. I would gladly abandon, of my own free 
will, the part I have in her fickle favour ; but I will 
not be elbowed out of it by the clown Sussex, or 
this new upstart. I hear Tressilian is with Sussex 
also, and high in his favour — I would spare him for 
considerations, but he will thrust himself on his 
fate — Sussex, too, is almost as well as ever in his 
health.” 

“My lord,” replied Varney, “there will be rubs 
in the smoothest road, specially when it leads up 
hill. Sussex’s illness was to us a god-send, from 
which I hoped much. He has recovered, indeed, 


KENILWORTH. 


255 


but he is not now more formidable than ere he fell 
ill, when he received more than one foil in wrest- 
ling with your lordship. Let not your heart fail 
you, my lord, and all shall be well.” 

“ My heart never failed me, sir,” replied Leicester. 

“ No, my lord,” said Varney ; “ but it has betrayed 
you right often. He that would climb a tree, my 
lord, must grasp by the branches, not by the 
blossom.” 

“Well, well, well!” said Leicester, impatiently; 
“I understand thy meaning — My heart shall 
neither fail me nor seduce me. Have my retinue 
in order — see that their array be so splendid as to 
put down not only the rude companions of Ratcliffe, 
but the retainers of every other nobleman and cour- 
tier. Let them be well armed withal, but without 
any outward display of their weapons, wearing them 
as if more for fashion’s sake than for use. Do thou 
thyself keep close to me, I may have business for 
you.” 

The preparations of Sussex and his party were 
not less anxious than those of Leicester. 

“Thy Supplication, impeaching Varney of seduc- 
tion,” said the Earl to Tressilian, “ is by this time 
in the Queen’s hand — I have sent it through a 
sure channel. Methinks your suit should succeed, 
being, as it is, founded in justice and honour, and 
Elizabeth being the very muster of both. But, I wot 
not how — the gipsy ” (so Sussex was wont to call 
his rival on account of his dark complexion) “ hath 
much to say with her in these holyday times of peace 

. Were war at the gates, I should be one of her 

white boys; but soldiers, like their bucklers and 
Bilboa blades, get out of fashion in peace time, and 
satin sleeves and walking rapiers bear the belL 


KENILWORTH. 


256 

Well, we must be gay, since such is the fashion. — 
Blount, hast thou seen our household put into their 
new braveries ? — But thou know’st as little of these 
toys as I do — thou wouldst be ready enow at 
disposing a stand of pikes.” 

“ My good lord,” answered Blount, “ Raleigh 
hath been here, and taken that charge upon him — 
Your train will glitter like a May morning. — 
Marry, the cost is another question. One might 
keep an hospital of old soldiers at the charge of ten 
modern lackeys.” 

“We must not count cost to-day, Nicholas,” said 
the Earl in reply ; “I am beholden to Raleigh for 
his care — I trust, though, he has remembered that 
I am an old soldier, and would have no more of 
these follies than needs must.” 

“Nay, I understand nought about it,” said 
Blount; “but here are your honourable lordship’s 
brave kinsmen and friends coming in by scores to 
wait upon you to court, where, methinks, we shall 
bear as brave a front as Leicester, let him ruffle it 
as he will.” 

“Give them the strictest charges,” said Sussex, 
“ that they suffer no provocation short of actual 
violence to provoke them into quarrel — they have 
hot bloods, and I would not give Leicester the ad- 
vantage over me by any imprudence of theirs.” 

The Earl of Sussex ran so hastily through these 
directions, that it was with difficulty Tressilian at 
length found opportunity to express his surprise 
that he should have proceeded so far in the affair of 
Sir Hugh Robsart as to lay his petition at once be- 
fore the Queen — “ It was the opinion of the young 
lady’s friends,” he said, “ that Leicester’s sense of 
justice should be first appealed to, as the offence 


KENILWORTH. 


257 


had been committed by his officer, and so he had 
expressly told to Sussex.” 

“This could have been done without applying 
to me,” said Sussex, somewhat haughtily. “ /, at 
least, ought not to have been a counsellor when the 
object was a humiliating reference to Leicester ; 
and I am surprised that you, Tressilian, a man of 
honour, and my friend, would assume such a mean 
course. If you said so, I certainly understood you 
not in a matter which sounded so unlike yourself.” 

“ My lord,” said Tressilian, “ the course I would 
prefer, for my own sake, is that you have adopted ; 
but the friends of this most unhappy lady ” 

“ O, the friends — the friends,” said Sussex, in- 
terrupting him ; “ they must let us manage this 
cause in the way which seems best. This is the 
time and the hour to accumulate every charge 
against Leicester and his household, and yours the 
Queen will hold a heavy one. But at all events 
she hath the complaint before her.” 

Tressilian could not help suspecting that, in his 
eagerness to strengthen himself against his rival, 
Sussex had purposely adopted the course most likely 
to throw odium on Leicester, without considering 
minutely whether it were the mode of proceeding 
most likely to be attended with success. But the 
step was irrevocable, and Sussex escaped from far- 
ther discussing it by dismissing his company, with 
the command, “ Let all be in order at eleven o’clock ; 
I must be at court and in the presence by high noon 
precisely.” 

While the rival statesmen were thus anxiously 
preparing for their approaching meeting in the 
Queen’s presence, even Elizabeth herself was not 
without apprehension of what might chance from 


KENILWORTH. 


258 

the collision of two such fiery spirits, each backed 
by a strong and numerous body of followers, and 
dividing betwixt them, either openly or in secret, 
the hopes and wishes of most of her court. The 
band of Gentlemen Pensioners were all under arms, 
and a reinforcement of the yeomen of the guard 
was brought down the Thames from London. A 
royal proclamation was sent forth, strictly prohibit- 
ing nobles of whatever degree, to approach the Pal- 
ace with retainers or followers, armed with shot, or 
with long weapons ; and it was even whispered, that 
the High Sheriff of Kent had secret instructions to 
have a part of the array of the county ready on the 
shortest notice. 

The eventful hour, thus anxiously prepared for 
on all sides, at length approached, and, each followed 
by his long and glittering train of friends and 
followers, the rival Earls entered the Palace-yard 
of Greenwich at noon precisely. 

As if by previous arrangement, or perhaps by in- 
timation that such was the Queen’s pleasure, Sussex 
and his retinue came to the Palace from Deptford 
by water, while Leicester arrived by land ; and thus 
they entered the court-yard from opposite sides. 
This trifling circumstance gave Leicester a certain 
ascendency in the opinion of the vulgar, the appear- 
ance of his cavalcade of mounted followers showing 
more numerous and more imposing than those of 
Sussex’s party, who were necessarily upon foot. 
No show or sign of greeting passed between the 
Earls, though each looked full at the other, both 
expecting perhaps an exchange of courtesies, which 
neither was willing to commence. Almost in the 
minute of their arrival the castle-bell tolled, the gates 
of the Palace were opened, and the Earls entered, 


KENILWORTH. 


m 


each numerously attended hy such gentlemen of 
their train, whose rank gave them that privilege. 
The yeomen and inferior attendants remained in 
the court-yard, where the opposite parties eyed each 
other with looks of eager hatred and scorn, as if 
waiting vrith impatience for some cause of tumult, 
or some apology for mutual aggression. But they 
were restrained hy the strict commands of their 
leaders, and overawed, perhaps, by the presence of 
an armed guard of unusual strength. 

In the meanwhile, the more distinguished persons 
of each train followed their patrons into the lofty 
halls and antechambers of the royal Palace, flowing 
on in the same current, like two streams which are 
compelled into the same channel, yet shun to mix 
their waters. The parties arranged themselves, as 
it were instinctively, on the different sides of the 
lofty apartments, and seemed eager to escape from 
the transient union which the narrowness of the 
crowded entrance had for an instant compelled them 
to submit to. The folding doors at the upper end 
of the long gallery were immediately afterwards 
opened, and it was announced in a whisper that the 
Queen was in her presence-chamber, to which these 
gave access. Both Earls moved slowly and stately 
towards the entrance ; Sussex followed by Tressi- 
lian, Blount, and Raleigh, and Leicester by Varney. 
The pride of Leicester was obliged to give way to 
court-forms, and with a grave and formal inclination 
of the head, he paused until his rival, a peer of older 
creation than his own, passed before him. Sussex 
returned the reverence with the same formal civility, 
and entered the presence-room. Tressilian and 
Blount offered to follow him, but were not per- 
mitted, the Usher of the Black Rod alleging iu 


26 o 


KENILWORTH. 


excuse, that he had precise orders to look to all 
admissions that day. To Raleigh, who stood back 
on the repulse of his companions, he said, “ You, sir, 
may enter,” and he entered accordingly. 

“Follow me close, Varney,” said the Earl of 
Leicester, who had stood aloof for a moment to mark 
the reception of Sussex ; and, advancing to the en- 
trance, he was about to pass on, when Varney, who 
was close behind him, dressed out in the utmost 
bravery of the day, was stopped by the usher, as 
Tressilian and Blount had been before him. “ How 
is this, Master Bowyer ? ” said the Earl of Leicester 
“ Know you who I am, and that this is my friend 
and follower ? ” 

“ Your lordship will pardon me,” replied Bow- 
yer, stoutly ; “ my orders are precise, and limit me 
to a strict discharge of my duty.” 

“ Thou art a partial knave,” said Leicester, the 
blood mounting to his face, “ to do me this dishon- 
our, when you but now admitted a follower of my 
Lord of Sussex.” 

“ My lord,” said Bowyer, “ Master Raleigh is 
newly admitted a sworn servant of her Grace, and 
to him my orders did not apply.” 

“ Thou art a knave — an ungrateful knave,” said 
Leicester ; “ but he that hath done, can undo — thou 
shalt not prank thee in thy authority long ! ” 

This threat he uttered aloud, with less than his 
usual policy and discretion, and having done so, he 
entered the presence-chamber, and made his reve- 
rence to the Queen, who, attired with even more 
than her usual splendour, and surrounded by those 
nobles and statesmen whose courage and wisdom 
have rendered her reign immortal, stood ready to 
receive the homage of her subjects. She graciously 


KENILWORTH. 


261 


returned the obeisance of the favourite Earl, and 
looked alternately at him and at Sussex, as if about 
to speak, when Bowyer, a man whose spirit could 
not brook the insult he had so openly received from 
Leicester, in the discharge of his office, advanced with 
his black rod in his hand, and knelt down before her. 

“Why, how now, Bowyer?” said Elizabeth, “ thy 
courtesy seems strangely timed ! ” 

“ My Liege Sovereign,” he said, while every 
courtier around trembled at his audacity, “ I come 
but to ask, whether, in the discharge of mine office, 
I am to obey your Highness’ s commands, or those 
of the Earl of Leicester, who has publicly menaced 
me with his displeasure, and treated me with dis- 
paraging terms, because I denied entry to one of 
his followers, in obedience to your Grace’s precise 
orders ? ” 

The spirit of Henry VIII. was instantly aroused 
in the bosom of his daughter, and she turned on 
Leicester with a severity which appalled him, as 
well as all his followers. 

“ God’s death ! my lord,” such was her emphatic 
phrase, “ what means this ? We have thought well 
of you, and brought you near to our person; but 
it was not that you might hide the sun from our 
other faithful subjects. Who gave you license to 
contradict our orders, or control our officers ? I will 
have in this court, ay, and in this realm, but one 
mistress, and no master. Look to it that Master 
Bowyer sustains no harm for his duty to me faith- 
fully discharged ; for, as I am Christian woman and 
crowned Queen, I will hold you dearly answerable. 
— Go, Bowyer, you have done the part of an honest 
man and a true subject. We will brook no mayor 
of the palace here,” 


262 


KENILWORTH. 


Bowyer kissed the hand which she extended 
towards him, and withdrew to his post, astonished 
at the success of his own audacity. A smile of tri- 
umph pervaded the faction of Sussex ; that of Lei- 
cester seemed proportionally dismayed, and the 
favourite himself, assuming an aspect of the deepest 
humility, did not even attempt a word in his own 
exculpation. 

He acted wisely ; for it was the policy of Eliza- 
beth to humble, not to disgrace him, and it was pru- 
dent to suffer her, without opposition or reply, to 
glory in the exertion of her authority. The dignity 
of the Queen was gratified, and the woman began 
soon to feel for the mortification which she had 
imposed on her favourite. Her keen eye also ob- 
served the secret looks of congratulation ex- 
changed amongst those who favoured Sussex, and 
it was no part of her policy to give either party 
a decisive triumph. 

“ What I say to my Lord of Leicester,” she said, 
after a moment’s pause, “ I say also to you, my Lord 
of Sussex. You also must needs ruffle in the court 
of England, at the head of a faction of your own ? ” 

“ My followers, gracious Princess,” said Sussex, 
“ have indeed ruffled in your cause, in Ireland, in 
Scotland, and against yonder rebellious Earls in the 
north. I am ignorant that ” 

“Do you bandy looks and words with me, my 
lord ? ” said the Queen, interrupting him ; “ me- 
thinks you might learn of my Lord of Leicester the 
modesty to be silent, at least, under our censure. 
I say, my lord, that my grandfather and my father, 
in their wisdom, debarred the nobles of this civil- 
ized land from travelling with such disorderly 
retinues ; and think you , that because I wear a coif. 


KENILWORTH. 263 

their sceptre has in my hand been changed into a 
distaff? I tell you, no king in Christendom will 
less brook his court to be cumbered, his people 
oppressed, and his kingdom’s peace disturbed, by 
the arrogance of overgrown power, than she who 
now speaks with you. — My Lord of Leicester, and 
you, my Lord of Sussex, I command you both to 
be friends with each other ; or by the crown I wear, 
you shall find an enemy who will be too strong for 
both of you 1” >0 

“ Madam,” said the Earl of Leicester, “ you who 
are yourself the fountain of honour, know best 
what is due to mine. I place it at your disposal, and 
only say, that the terms on which I have stood with 
my Lord of Sussex have not been of my seeking ; 
nor had he cause to think me his enemy, until he 
had done me gross wrong.” 

“ For me, madam,” said the Earl of Sussex, “ I 
cannot appeal from your sovereign pleasure ; but 
I were well content my Lord of Leicester should 
say in what I have, as he terms it, wronged him, 
since my tongue never spoke the word that I would 
not willingly justify either on foot or horseback.” 

“ And for me,” said Leicester, “ always under 
my gracious Sovereign’s pleasure, my hand shall be 
as ready to make good my words, as that of any 
man who ever wrote himself Ratcliffe.” 

“ My lords,” said the Queen, “ these are no terms 
for this presence ; and if you cannot keep your tem- 
per, we will find means to keep both that and you 
close enough. Let me see you join hands, my lords, 
and forget your idle animosities.” 

The two rivals looked at each other with reluc- 
tant eyes, each unwilling to make the first advance 
to execute the Queen’s will. 


264 


KENILWORTH. 


“ Sussex/’ said Elizabeth, “ I entreat — Leicester, 
I command you.” 

Yet, so were her words accented, that the en- 
treaty sounded like command, and the command 
like entreaty. They remained still and stubborn, 
until she raised her voice to a height which argued 
at once impatience and absolute command. 

“ Sir Henry Lee,” she said, to an officer in atten- 
dance, “ have a guard in present readiness, and 
man a barge instantly. — My Lords of Sussex 
and Leicester, I bid you once more to join hands — 
and, God’s death ! he that refuses shall taste of our 
Tower fare ere he see our face again. I will lower 
your proud hearts ere we part, and that I promise, 
on the word of a Queen ! ” 

“The prison,” said Leicester, “might be borne, 
but to lose your Grace’s presence, were to lose light 
and life at once. — Here, Sussex, is my hand.” 

“ And here,” said Sussex, “ is mine in truth and 
honesty ; but ” 

“Nay, under favour, you shall add no more,” said 
the Queen. “Why, this is as it should be,” she 
added, looking on them more favourably, “ and when 
you, the shepherds of the people, unite to protect 
them, it shall be well with the flock we rule over. 
For, my lords, I tell you plainly, your follies and 
your brawls lead to strange disorders among your 
servants. — My Lord of Leicester, you have a gen- 
tleman in your household, called Yarney ? ” 

“ Yes, gracious madam,” replied Leicester, “ I 
presented him to kiss your royal hand when you 
were last at Nonsuch.” 

“ His outside was well enough,” said the Queen, 
“but scarce so fair, I should have thought, as to 
have caused a maiden of honourable birth and hopes 


RMlLWORTfL 


26 $ 

to barter her fame for his good looks, and become 
his paramour. Yet so it is — this fellow of yours 
hath seduced the daughter of a good old Devonshire 
knight, Sir Hugh Eobsart of Lidcote Hall, and she 
hath fled with him from her father’s house like a 
castaway. — My Lord of Leicester, are you ill, that 
you look so deadly pale ? ” 

“No, gracious madam,” said Leicester; and it 
required every effort he could make to bring forth 
these few words. 

“ You are surely ill, my lord ? ” said Elizabeth, 
going towards him with hasty speech and hurried 
step, which indicated the deepest concern. “ Call 
Masters — call our surgeon in ordinary — Where be 
these loitering fools ? — We lose the pride of our 
court through their negligence. — Or is it possible, 
Leicester,” she continued, looking on him with a 
very gentle aspect, “ can fear of my displeasure have 
wrought so deeply on thee ? Doubt not for a mo- 
ment, noble Dudley, that we could blame thee for 
the folly of thy retainer — thee, whose thoughts we 
know to be far otherwise employed ! He that would 
climb the eagle’s nest, my lord, cares not who are 
catching linnets at the foot of the precipice.” 

“ Mark you that ? ” ‘said Sussex, aside to Raleigh. 
“ The devil aids him surely ! for all that would sink 
another ten fathom deep, seems but to make him 
float the more easily. Had a follower of mine acted 
thus ” 

“ Peace, my good lord,” said Raleigh, “ for God’s 
sake, peace! Wait the change of the tide; it is 
even now on the turn.” 

The acute observation of Raleigh, perhaps, did 
not deceive him; for Leicester’s confusion was so 
great, and, indeed, for the moment, so irresistibly 




266 KENILWORTH. 

overwhelming, that Elizabeth, after looking at him 
with a wondering eye, and receiving no intelligible 
answer to the unusual expressions of grace and affec- 
tion which had escaped from her, shot her quick 
glance around the circle of courtiers, and reading, 
perhaps, in their faces, something that accorded with 
her own awakened suspicions, she said suddenly, 
“ Or is there more in this than we see — or than 
you, my lord, wish that we should see ? Where is 
this Varney? Who saw him?” 

“An it please your Grace,” said Bowyer, “it is 
the same against whom I this instant closed the 
door of the presence-room.” 

“ An it please me ? ” repeated Elizabeth, sharply, 
not at that moment in the humour of being pleased 
with any thing, — “ It does not please me that he 
should pass saucily into my presence, or that you 
should exclude from it one who came to justify 
himself from an accusation.” 

“May it please you,” answered the perplexed 
usher, “ if I knew, in such case, how to bear my- 
self, I would take heed ” 

“ You should have reported the fellow’s desire to 
us, Master Usher, and taken our directions. You 
think yourself a great man, because but now we chid 
a nobleman on your account — yet, after all, we hold 
you but as the lead-weight that keeps the door fast. 
Call this Varney hither instantly — there is one 
Tressilian also mentioned in this petition — let 
them both come before us.” 

She was obeyed, and Tressilian and Varney 
appeared accordingly. Varney’s first glance was at 
Leicester, his second at the Queen. In the looks of 
the latter, there appeared an approaching storm, and 
in the downcast countenance of his patron, he could 


KENILWORTH. 


267 


read no directions in which way he was to trim his 
vessel for the encounter — he then saw Tressilian, 
and at once perceived the peril of the situation in 
which he was placed. But Varney was as bold-faced 
and ready-witted as he was cunning and unscrupu- 
lous, — a skilful pilot in extremity, and fully con- 
scious of the advantages which he would obtain, 
could he extricate Leicester from his present peril, 
and of the ruin that yawned for himself, should he 
fail in doing so. 

“ Is it true, sirrah,” said the Queen, with one of 
those searching looks which few had the audacity 
to resist, “ that you have seduced to infamy a young 
lady of birth and breeding, the daughter of Sir 
Hugh Robsart of Lidcote Hall ? ” 

Varney kneeled down, and replied, with a look 
of the most profound contrition, “ There had been 
some love passages betwixt him and Mistress Amy 
Robsart.” 

Leicester’s flesh quivered with indignation as he 
heard his dependent make this avowal, and for one 
moment he manned himself to step forward, and, 
bidding farewell to the court and the royal favour, 
confess the whole mystery of the secret marriage. 
But he looked at Sussex, and the idea of the triumph- 
ant smile which would clothe his cheek upon hearing 
the avowal, sealed his lips. “ Not now, at least,” 
he thought, “ or in this presence, will I afford him 
so rich a triumph.” And pressing his lips close to- 
gether, he stood firm and collected, attentive to each 
word which Varney uttered, and determined to hide 
to the last the secret on which his court-favour 
seemed to depend. Meanwhile, the Queen pro- 
ceeded in her examination of Varney. 

“ Love passages ! ” said she, echoing his last words ; 


268 


KENILWORTH. 


“ what passages, thou knave ? and why not ask the 
wench’s hand from her father, if thou hadst any 
honesty in thy love for her?” 

“An it please your Grace,” said Varney, still on 
his knees, “ I dared not do so, for her father had 
promised her hand to a gentleman of birth and 
honour — I will do him justice, though I know he 
bears me ill will — one Master Edmund Tressilian, 
whom I now see in the presence/' 

“ Soh ! ” replied the Queen ; “ and what was your 
right to make the simple fool break her worthy 
father’s contract, through your love passages, as 
your conceit and assurance terms them?” 

“Madam,” replied Varney, “it is in vain to plead 
the cause of human frailty before a judge to whom 
it is unknown, or that of love, to one who never 
yields to the passion ” — He paused an instant, and 
then added, in a very low and timid tone, “ which 
she inflicts upon all others.” 

Elizabeth tried to frown, but smiled in her own 
despite, as she answered, “ Thou art a marvellously 
impudent knave — Art thou married to the girl ? ” 

Leicester’s feelings became so complicated and 
so painfully intense, that it seemed to him as if his 
life was to depend on the answer made by Varney, 
who, after a moment’s real hesitation, answered, 
“ Yes” 

“Thou false villain !” said Leicester, bursting forth 
into rage, yet unable to add another word to the 
sentence, which he had begun with such emphatic 
passion. 

“Nay, my lord,” said the Queen, “we will, by 
your leave, stand between this fellow and your anger. 
We have not yet done with him. — Knew your mas- 
ter, my Lord of Leicester, of this fair work of yours ? 


KENILWORTH. 269 

Speak truth, I command thee, and I will be thy 
warrant from danger on every quarter.” 

“ Gracious madam,” said Varney, “ to speak Hea- 
ven’s truth, my lord was the cause of the whole 
matter.” 

“ Thou villain, wouldst thou betray me ? ” said 
Leicester. 

“Speak on,” said the Queen, hastily, her cheek 
colouring, and her eyes sparkling, as she addressed 
Varney; “speak on — here no commands are heard 
but mine.” 

“ They are omnipotent, gracious madam,” replied 
Varney; “and to you there can be no secrets. — 
Yet I would not,” he added, looking around him, 
“ speak of my master’s concerns to other ears.” 

“Fall back, my lords,” said the Queen to those 
who surrounded her, “ and do you speak on. — What 
hath the Earl to do with this guilty intrigue of thine ? 
— See, fellow, that thou beliest him not ! ” 

“ Far be it from me to traduce my noble patron,” 
replied Varney ; “yeti am compelled to own that 
some deep, overwhelming, yet secret feeling, hath 
of late dwelt in my lord’s mind, hath abstracted him 
from the cares of the household, which he was wont 
to govern with such religious strictness, and hath 
left us opportunities to do follies, of which the shame, 
as in this case, partly falls upon our patron. With- 
out this, I had not had means or leisure to commit 
the folly which has drawn on me his displeasure ; 
the heaviest to endure by me, which I could by any 
means incur, — saving always the yet more dreaded 
resentment of your Grace.” 

“ And in this sense, and no other, hath he been 
accessory to thy fault ? ” said Elizabeth. 

“Surely, madam, in no other,” replied Varney; 


270 


KENILWORTH. 


“ but since somewhat hath chanced to him, he can 
scarce be called his own man. Look at him, madam, 
how pale and trembling he stands — how unlike his 
usual majesty of manner — yet what has he to fear 
from aught I can say to your Highness ? Ah ! 
madam, since he received that fatal packet ! ” 

“What packet, and from whence?” said the Queen, 
eagerly. 

“ From whence, madam, I cannot guess ; but I 
am so near to his person, that I know he has ever 
since worn, suspended around his neck, and next to 
his heart, that lock of hair which sustains a small 
golden jewel shaped like a heart — he speaks to it 
when alone — he parts not from it when he sleeps 

— no heathen ever worshipped an idol with such 
devotion.” 

“ Thou art a prying knave to watch thy master 
so closely,” said Elizabeth, blushing, but not with 
anger ; “ and a tattling knave to tell over again his 
fooleries. — What colour might the braid of hair be 
that thou pratest of ? ” 

Varney replied, “A poet, madam, might call it a 
thread from the golden web wrought by Minerva ; 
but, to my thinking, it was paler than even the 
purest gold — more like the last parting sunbeam of 
the softest day of spring.” 

“Why, you are a poet yourself, Master Varney,” 
said the Queen, smiling ; “ but I have not genius 
quick enough to follow your rare metaphors — Look 
round these ladies — is there ” — (she hesitated, and 
endeavoured to assume an air of great indifference) 

— “ Is there here, in this presence, any lady, the 
colour of whose hair reminds thee of that braid? 
Methinks, without prying into my Lord of Leices- 
ter’s amorous secrets, I would fain know what kind 


KENILWORTH. 


271 


of locks are like the thread of Minerva’s web, or 
the — what was it ? — the last rays of the May-day 
sun.” 

Varney looked round the presence-chamber, his 
eye travelling from one lady to another, until at 
length it rested upon the Queen herself, but with 
an aspect of the deepest veneration. “I see no 
tresses,” he said, “ in this presence, worthy of such 
similies, unless where 1 dare not look on them.” 

“How, Sir knave,” said the Queen, “dare you 
intimate ” 

“ Nay, madam,” replied Varney, shading his eyes 
with his hand, “ it was the beams of the May-day 
sun that dazzled my weak eyes.” 

“ Go to — go to,” said the Queen ; “ thou art a 
foolish fellow ” — and turning quickly from him 
she walked up to Leicester. 

Intense curiosity, mingled with all the various 
hopes, fears, and passions, which influence court- 
faction, had occupied the presence-chamber during 
the Queen’s conference with Varney, as if with the 
strength of an Eastern talisman. Men suspended 
every, even the slightest external motion, and would 
have ceased to breathe, had Nature permitted such 
an intermission of her functions. The atmosphere 
was contagious, and Leicester, who saw all around 
wishing or fearing his advancement or his fall, for- 
got all that love had previously dictated, and saw 
nothing for the instant but the favour or disgrace, 
which depended on the nod of Elizabeth and the 
fidelity of Varney. He summoned himself hastily, 
and prepared to play his part in the scene which was 
like to ensue, when, as he judged from the glances 
which the Queen threw towards him, Varney’s com- 
muuications, be they what they might, were opera- 


272 


KENILWORTH. 


ting in his favour. Elizabeth did not long leave him 
in doubt ; for the more than favour with which she 
accosted him decided his triumph in the eyes of 
his rival, and of the assembled court of England — 
“Thou hast a prating servant of this same Varney, 
my lord,” she said ; “ it is lucky you trust him with 
nothing that can hurt you in our opinion, for believe 
me, he would keep no counsel.” 

“ From your Highness,” said Leicester, dropping 
gracefully on one knee, “ it were treason - he should. 
I would that my heart itself lay before you, barer 
than the tongue of any servant could strip it.” 

“ What, my lord,” said Elizabeth, looking kindly 
upon him, “ is there no one little corner over which 
you would wish to spread a veil ? Ah ! I see you 
are confused at the question, and your Queen knows 
she should not look too deeply into her servants’ 
motives for their faithful duty, lest she see what 
might, or at least ought to, displease her.” 

Relieved by these last words, Leicester broke out 
into a torrent of expressions of deep and passionate 
attachment, which perhaps, at that moment, were 
not altogether fictitious. The mingled emotions 
which had at first overcome him. had now given way 
to the energetic vigour with which he had deter- 
mined to support his place in the Queen’s favour ; 
and never did he seem to Elizabeth more eloquent, 
more handsome, more interesting, than while, kneel- 
ing at her feet, he conjured her to strip him of all 
his dower, but to leave him the name of her servant. 
— “ Take from the poor Dudley,” he exclaimed, “ all 
that your bounty has made him, and bid him be the 
poor gentleman he was when your Grace first shone 
on him ; leave him no mor§ than his cloak and his 
sword, but let him still boast he has — what in word 


KENILWORTH. 


273 


or deed he never forfeited — the regard of his adored 
Queen and mistress ! ” 

“ No, Dudley ! ” said Elizabeth, raising him with 
one hand, while she extended the other that he 
might kiss it ; “ Elizabeth hath not forgotten that, 
whilst you were a poor gentleman, despoiled of your 
hereditary rank, she was as poor a princess, and that 
in her cause you then ventured all that oppression 
had left you — your life and honour. — Rise, my 
lord, and let my hand go ! — rise, and be what you 
have ever been, the grace of our court, and the sup- 
port of our throne. Your mistress may be forced to 
chide your misdemeanours, but never without own- 
ing your merits. — And so help me God,” she added, 
turning to the audience, who, with various feelings, 
witnessed this interesting scene, — “ So help me 
God, gentlemen, as I think never sovereign had a 
truer servant than I have in this noble Earl ! ” 

A murmur of assent rose from the Leicestrian 
faction, which the friends of Sussex dared not op- 
pose. They remained with their eyes fixed on the 
ground, dismayed as well as mortified by the public 
and absolute triumph of their opponents. Leices- 
ter's first use of the familiarity to which the Queen . 
had so publicly restored him, was to ask her com- 
mands concerning Varney’s offence. “ Although,” 
he said, “ the fellow deserves nothing from me but 
displeasure, yet, might I presume to intercede ” 

"In truth, we had forgotten his matter,” said the 
Queen ; “ and it was ill done of us, who owe jus- 
tice to our meanest, as well as to our highest 
subject. We are pleased, my lord, that you were 
the first to recall the matter to our memory. — 
Where is Tressilian, the accuser? — let him come 
before us.” 


274 


KENILWORTH. 


Tressilian appeared, and made a low and beseem- 
ing reverence. His person, as we have elsewhere 
observed, had an air of grace and even of nobleness, 
which did not escape Queen Elizabeth’s critical ob- 
servatiom She looked at him with attention as he 
stood before her unabashed, but with an air of the 
deepest dejection. 

“ I cannot but grieve for this gentleman,” she said 
to Leicester. “ I have enquired concerning him, 
and his presence confirms what I heard, that he is 
a scholar and a soldier, well accomplished both in 
arts and arms. We women, my lord, are fanciful 
in our choice — I had said now, to judge by the eye, 
there was no comparison to be held betwixt your 
follower and this gentleman. But Varney is a well- 
spoken fellow, and, to speak truth, that goes far with 
us of the weaker sex. — Look you, Master Tressi- 
lian, a bolt lo t is not a bow broken. Your true 
affection, as I will hold it to be, hath been, it seems, 
but ill requited ; but you have scholarship, and you 
know there have been false Cressidas to be found, 
from the Trojan war downwards. Forget, good sir, 
this Lady Light o’ Love — teach your affection to 
see with a wiser eye. This we say to you, more 
from the writings of learned men, than our own 
knowledge, being, as we are, far removed by station 
and will, from the enlargement of experience in 
such idle toys of humorous passion. For this dame’s 
father, we can make his grief the less, by advancing 
his son-in-law to such station as may enable him to 
give an honourable support to his bride. Thou shalt 
not be forgotten thyself, Tressilian — follow our 
court, and thou shalt see that a true Troilus hath 
some claim on our grace. Think of what that arch- 
knave Shakspeare says — a plague on him, his toys 


KENILWORTH. 


275 

come into my head when I should think of other 
matters — Stay, how goes it ? 

* Cressid was yours, tied with the bonds of heaven; 

These bonds of heaven are slipt, dissolved, and loosed, 
And with another knot five fingers tied, 

The fragments of her faith are bound to Diomed/ 

You smile, my Lord of Southampton — perchance 
I make your player’s verse halt through my bad 
memory — but let it suffice — let there he no more 
of this mad matter.” * 

And as Tressilian kept the posture of one who 
would willingly be heard, though, at the same time, 
expressive of the deepest reverence, the Queen 
added with some impatience, — “ What would the 
man have ? The wench cannot wed both of you ? — 
She has made her election — not a wise one per- 
chance — but she is Varney’s wedded wife.” 

“ My suit should sleep there, most gracious Sov- 
ereign,” said Tressilian, “ and with my suit my 
revenge. But I hold this Varney’s word no good 
warrant for the truth.” 

“ Had that doubt been elsewhere urged,” answered 

Varney, “ my sword ” 

“ Thy sword !” interrupted Tressilian, scornfully; 

“with her Grace’s leave,' my sword shall show ” 

“ Peace, you knaves, both ! ” said the Queen ; 
“ know you where you are ? — This comes of your 
feuds, my lords,” she added, looking towards Lei- 
cester and Sussex ; “ your followers catch your own 
humour, and must bandy and brawl in my court, 
and in my very presence, like so many Matamoros. — 
Look you, sirs, he that speaks of drawing swords 
in any other quarrel than mine or England’s, by 
mine honour, I’ll bracelet him with iron both on 


276 


KENILWORTH. 


wrist and ankle ! ” She then paused a minute, and 
resumed in a milder tone, “ I must do justice be- 
twixt the bold and mutinous knaves notwithstand- 
ing. — My Lord of Leicester, will you warrant with 
your honour, — that is, to the best of your belief, 

— that your servant speaks truth in saying he hath 
married this Amy Robsart ? ” 

This was a home-thrust, and had nearly staggered 
Leicester. But he had now gone too far to recede, 
and answered, after a moment’s hesitation,. “To the 
best of my belief — fndeed on my certain -knowledge 

— she is a wedded wife.” 

“Gracious madam,” said Tressilian, “may I yet 
request to know, when and under what circum- 
stances this alleged marriage ” 

“ Out, sirrah,” answered the Queen ; “ alleged 
marriage ! — Have you not the word of this illus- 
trious Earl to warrant the truth of what his servant 
says ? But thou art a loser — think’st thyself such 
at least — and thou shalt have indulgence — we will 
look into the matter ourself more at leisure. — My 
Lord of Leicester, I trust you remember we mean 
to taste the good cheer of your Castle of Kenilworth 
on this week ensuing — we will pray you to bid our 
good and valued Triend the Earl of Sussex to hold 
company with us there.” 

“If the noble Earl of Sussex,” said Leicester, 
bowing to his rival with the easiest and with the 
most graceful courtesy, “ will so far honour my 
poor house, I will hold it an additional proof of the 
amicable regard it is your Grace’s desire we should 
entertain towards each other.” 

Sussex was more embarrassed — “I should,” said 
he, “ madam, be but a clog on your gayer hours, 
since my late severe illness.” 


KENILWORTH. 


m 

"And have you been indeed so very ill?" said 
Elizabeth, looking on him with more attention than 
before ; “ you are in faith strangely altered, and 
deeply am I grieved to see it. But be of good cheer 
— we will ourselves look after the health of so val- 
ued a servant, and to whom we owe so much. Mas- 
ters shall order your diet; and that we ourselves 
may see that he is obeyed, you must attend us in 
this progress to Kenilworth.” 

This was said so peremptorily, and at the same 
time with so much kindness, that Sussex, however 
unwilling to become the guest of his rival, had no 
resource but to bow low to the Queen in obedience 
to her commands, and to express to Leicester, with 
blunt courtesy, though mingled with embarrassment, 
his acceptance of his invitation. As the Earls ex- 
changed compliments on the occasion, the Queen 
said to her High Treasurer, “Methinks, my lord, 
the countenances of these our two noble peers re- 
semble that of the two famed classic streams, the 
one so dark and sad, the other so fair and noble — 
My old Master Ascham would have chid me for 
forgetting the author — It is Caesar, as I think. — 
See what majestic calmness sits on the brow of the 
noble Leicester, while Sussex seems to greet him as 
if he did our will indeed, but not willingly.” 

“ The doubt of your Majesty’s favour,” answered 
the Lord Treasurer, “ may perchance occasion the 
difference, which does not — as what does ? — escape 
your Grace’s eye.” 

“ Such doubt were injurious to us, my lord,” replied 
the Queen. “ We hold both to be near and dear to 
us, and will with impartiality employ both in hon- 
ourable service for the weal of our kingdom. But 
we will break their farther conference at present. — 


2 7 8 


KENILWORTH. 


My Lords of Sussex and Leicester, we have a word 
more with you. Tressilian and Varney are near 
your persons — you will see that they attend you at 
Kenilworth — And as we shall then have both Paris 
and Menelaus within our call, so we will have the 
same fair Helen also, whose fickleness has caused 
this broil. — Varney, thy wife must be at Kenilworth, 
and forthcoming at my order. — My Lord of Leicester, 
we expect you will look to this.” 

The Earl and his follower bowed low, and raised 
their heads, without daring to look at the Queen, or 
at each other ; for both felt at the instant as if the 
nets and toils which their own falsehood had woven, 
were in the act of closing around them. The Queen, 
however, observed not their confusion, but proceeded 
to say, “ My Lords of Sussex and Leicester, we re- 
quire your presence at the privy -council to be pres- 
ently held, where matters of importance are to be 
debated. We will then take the water for our diver- 
tisement, and you, my lords, will attend us. — And 
that reminds us of a circumstance — Do you, Sir 
Squire of the Soiled Cassock,” (distinguishing Raleigh 
by a smile,) “ fail not to observe that you are to at- 
tend us on our progress. You shall be supplied 
with suitable means to reform your wardrobe.” 

And so terminated this celebrated audience, in 
which, as throughout her life, Elizabeth united the 
occasional caprice of her sex, with that sense and 
sound policy, in which neither man nor woman ever 
excelled her. 


CHAPTER XVII. 


Well, then — onr course is chosen — spread the sail — 

Heave oft the lead, and mark the soundings well — 

Look to the helm, good master — many a shoal 
Marks this stern coast, and rocks, where sits the Siren, 

Who, like ambition, lures men to their ruin. 

The Shipwreck. 

During the brief interval that took place betwixt 
the dismissal of the audience and the sitting of the 
privy-council, Leicester had time to reflect that he 
had that morning sealed his own fate. “ It was im- 
possible for him now,” he thought, “ after having, in 
the face of all that was honourable in England, 
pledged his truth (though in an ambiguous phrase) 
for the statement of Varney, to contradict or dis- 
avow it, without exposing himself not merely to the 
loss of court-favour, but to the highest displeasure of 
the Queen, his deceived mistress, and to the scorn 
and contempt at once of his rival and of all his com- 
peers.” This certainty rushed at once on his mind, 
together with all the difficulties which he would nec- 
essarily be exposed to in preserving a secret, which 
seemed now equally essential to his safety, to his 
power, and to his honour. He was situated like one 
who walks upon ice, ready to give way around him, 
and whose only safety consists in moving onwards, by 
firm and unvacillating steps. The Queen’s favour, 
to preserve which he had made such sacrifices, must 
now be secured by all means and at all hazards — it 
was the only plank which he could cling to in the 


KENILWORTH. 


280 

tempest. He must settle himself, therefore, to the 
task of not only preserving, but augmenting the 
Queen’s partiality — lie must be the favourite of 
Elizabeth, or a man utterly shipwrecked in fortune 
and in honour. All other considerations must be 
laid aside for the moment, and he repelled the in- 
trusive thoughts which forced on his mind the image 
of Amy, by saying to himself, there would be time 
to think hereafter how he was to escape from the 
labyrinth ultimately, since the pilot, who sees a 
Scylla under his bows, must not for the time think 
of the more distant dangers of Charybdis. 

In this mood, the Earl of Leicester that day as- 
sumed his chair at the council table of Elizabeth ; 
and when the hours of business were over, in this 
same mood did he occupy an honoured place near 
her, during her pleasure excursion on the Thames. 
And never did he display to more advantage his 
powers as a politician of the first rank, or his parts 
as an accomplished courtier. 

It chanced that in that day’s council matters were 
agitated touching the affairs of the unfortunate Mary, 
the seventh year of whose captivity in England was 
now in doleful currency. There had been opinions 
in favour of this unhappy princess laid before Eliza- 
beth’s council, and supported with much strength of 
argument by Sussex and others, who dwelt more 
upon the law of nations and the breach of hospital- 
ity, than, however softened or qualified, was agree- 
able to the Queen’s ear. Leicester adopted the con- 
trary opinion with great animation and eloquence, 
and described the necessity of continuing the severe 
restraint of the Queen of Scots, as a measure essen- 
tial to the safety of the kingdom, and particularly of 
Elizabeth’s sacred person, the lightest hair of whose 


KENILWORTH. 


281 


head, he maintained, ought, in their lordships’ esti- 
mation, to be matter of more deep and anxious con- 
cern, than the life and fortunes of a rival, who, after 
setting up a vain and unjust pretence to the throne 
of England, was now, even while in the bosom of her 
country, the constant hope and theme of encourage- 
ment to all enemies to Elizabeth, whether at home or 
abroad. He ended by craving pardon of their lord- 
ships, if in the zeal of speech he had given any 
offence ; but the Queen’s safety was a theme which 
hurried him beyond his usual moderation of debate. 

Elizabeth chid him, but not severely, for the 
weight which he attached unduly to her personal 
interests ; yet she owned, that since it had been the 
pleasure of Heaven to combine those interests with 
the weal of her subjects, she did only her duty when 
she adopted such measures of self-preservation as 
circumstances fofced upon her; and if the council 
in their wisdom should be of opinion, that it was 
needful to continue some restraint on the person of 
her unhappy sister of Scotland, she trusted they 
would not blame her if she requested of the Count- 
ess of Shrewsbury to use her with as much kindness 
as might be consistent with her safe keeping. And 
with this intimation of her pleasure, the council was 
dismissed. 

Never was more anxious and ready way made for 
“ my Lord of Leicester,” than as he passed through 
the crowded anterooms to go towards the river-side, 
in order to attend her Majesty to her barge — never 
was the voice of the ushers louder, to “ make room 

— make room for the noble Earl ” — never were 
these signals more promptly and reverently obeyed 

— never were more anxious eyes turned on him to 
obtain a glance of favour, or even of mere recog- 


282 


KENILWORTH 


nition, while the heart of many a humble follower 
throbbed betwixt the desire to offer his congratula- 
tions, and the fear of intruding himself on the notice 
of one ! so infinitely above him. The whole court 
considered the issue of this day’s audience, expected 
with so much doubt and anxiety, as a decisive tri- 
umph on the part of Leicester, and felt assured that 
the orb of his rival satellite, if not altogether ob- 
scured by his lustre, must revolve hereafter in a 
dimmer and more distant sphere. So thought the 
court and courtiers, from high to low ; and they 
acted accordingly. 

On the other hand, never did Leicester return the 
general greeting with such ready and condescending 
courtesy, or endeavour more successfully to gather 
(in the words of one, who at that moment stood at 
no great distance from him) “ golden opinions from 
all sorts of men.” 

For all the favourite Earl had a bow, a smile at 
least, and often a kind word. Most of these were 
addressed to courtiers, whose names have long gone 
down the tide of oblivion ; but some, to such as 
sound strangely in our ears, when connected with 
the ordinary matters of human life, above which the 
gratitude of posterity has long elevated them. A 
few of Leicester’s interlocutory sentences ran as 
follows : 

“ Poynings, good morrow, and how does your 
wife and fair daughter? Why come they not to 
court ? — Adams, your suit is naught — the Queen 
will grant no more monopolies — but I may serve 
you in another matter. — My good Alderman Ayl- 
ford, the suit of the City, affecting Queenhithe, 
shall be forwarded as far as my poor interest can 
serve. — Master Edmund Spenser, touching your 


KENILWORTH, 


283 

Irish petition, I would willingly aid you, from my 
love to the Muses ; but thou hast nettled the Lord 
Treasurer.” 

“ My lord,” said the poet, “ were I permitted to 
explain ” 

“Come to my lodging, Edmund,” answered the 
Earl — “ not to-morrow, or next day, but soon. — 
Ha, Will Shakspeare — wild Will! (u) — thou hast 
given my nephew, Philip Sidney, love-powder — he 
cannot sleep without thy Venus and Adonis under 
his pillow ! We will have thee hanged for the 
veriest wizard in Europe. Hark thee, mad wag, 
I have not forgotten thy matter of the patent, and 
of the bears.” 

The 'player bowed, and the Earl nodded and 
passed on — so that age would have told the tale — 
in ours, perhaps, we might say the immortal had 
done homage to the mortal. The next whom the 
favourite accosted, was one of his own zealous 
dependents. 

“ How now, Sir Francis Denning,” he whispered, 
in answer to his exulting salutation, “that smile 
hath made thy face shorter by one-third than when 
I first saw it this morning. — What, Master Bow- 
yer, stand you back, and think you I bear malice ? 
You did but your duty this morning ; and if I re- 
member aught of the passage betwixt us, it shall 
be in thy favour.” 

Then the Earl was approached, with several fan- 
tastic congees, by a person quaintly dressed in a 
doublet of black velvet, curiously slashed and pinked 
with crimson satin. A long cock’s feather in the 
velvet bonnet, which he held in his hand, and an 
enormous ruff, stiffened to the extremity of the 
absurd taste of the times, joined with a sharp, lively 


284 


•KENILWORTH. 


conceited expression of countenance, seemed to 
body forth a vain harebrained coxcomb, and small 
Wit ; while the rod he held, and an assumption of 
formal authority, appeared to express some sense 
of official consequence, which qualified the natural 
pertness of his manner. A perpetual blush, which 
occupied rather the sharp nose than the thin cheek 
of this personage, seemed to speak more of “ good 
life,” as it was called, than of modesty ; and the 
manner in which he approached to the Earl con- 
firmed that suspicion. 

“ Good even to you, Master Robert Laneham,” 
said Leicester, and seemed desirous to pass forward, 
without farther speech. 

“ I have a suit to your noble lordship,” said the 
figure, boldly following him. 

“ And what is it, good master keeper of the 
council-chamber door ? ” 

“ Clerk of the council-chamber door,” said Master 
Robert Laneham, with emphasis, by way of reply, 
and of correction. 

“ Well, qualify thine office as thou wilt, man,” 
replied the Earl ; “ what wouldst thou have with 
me ? ” 

“Simply,” answered Laneham, “that your lord- 
ship would be, as heretofore, my good lord, and 
procure me license to attend the Summer Progress 
unto your lordship’s most beautiful, and all-to-be 
unmatched Castle of Kenilworth.” 

“ To what purpose, good Master Laneham ? ” re- 
plied the Earl ; “ bethink you, my guests must needs 
be many.” 

“ Not so many,” replied the petitioner, “but that 
your nobleness will willingly spare your old servi- 
tor his crib and his mess. Bethink you, my lord, 


KENILWORTH. 


S85 

how necessary is this rod of mine, to fright away 
all those listeners, who else would play at bo-peep 
with the honourable council, and be searching for 
keyholes and crannies in the door of the chamber, 
so as to render my staff as needful as a fly-flap in 
a butcher’s shop.” 

“ Methinks you have found out a fly-blown com- 
parison for the honourable council, Master Lane- 
ham,” said the Earl ; “ but seek not about to jus- 
tify it. Come to Kenilworth, if you list ; there will 
be store of fools there besides, and so you will be 
fitted.” i 

“Kay, an there be fools, my lord,” replied Lane- 
ham, with much glee, “ I warrant I will make sport 
among them ; for no greyhound loves to cote a hare, 
as I to turn and course a fool. But I have another 
singular favour to beseech of your honour.” 

“ Speak it, and let me go,” said the Earl ; “ I 
think the Queen comes forth instantly.” 

“ My very good lord, I would fain bring a bed- 
fellow with me.” 

“ How, you irreverent rascal ! ” said Leicester. 

“ Nay, my lord, my meaning is within the can- 
ons,” answered his unblushing, or rather his ever- 
blushing petitioner. “ I have a wife as curious as 
her grandmother, who eat the apple. Now, take her 
with me I may not, her Highness’s orders being so 
strict against the officers bringing with them their 
wives in a progress, and so lumbering the court 
with womankind. But what I would crave of your 
lordship, is. to find room for her in some mummery, 
or pretty pageant, in disguise, as it were ; so that, not 
being known for my wife, there may be no offence.” 

“ The foul fiend seize ye both ! ” said Leicester, 
stung into uncontrollable passion by the recollec* 


286 


KENILWORTH. 


tions which this speech excited — “ Why stop you 
me with such follies ? ” 

The terrified clerk of the chamber-door, astonished 
at the burst of resentment he had so unconsciously 
produced, dropped his staff of office from his hand, 
and gazed on the incensed Earl with a foolish face 
of wonder and terror, which instantly recalled Lei- 
cester to himself. 

“ I meant but to try if thou hadst the audacity 
which befits thine office,” said he hastily. “ Come 
to Kenilworth, and bring the devil with thee, if 
thou wilt.” 

“ My wife, sir, hath played the devil ere now, 
in a Mystery, in Queen Mary’s time — but we shall 
want a trifle for properties.” 

“ Here is a crown for thee,” said the Earl, — 
“ make me rid of thee — the great bell rings.” 

Master Robert Laneham stared a moment at the 
agitation which he had excited, and then said to 
himself, as he stooped to pick up his staff of office, 
“ The noble Earl runs wild humours to-day ; but 
they who give crowns, expect us witty fellows to 
wink at their unsettled starts ; and, by my faith, 
if they paid not for mercy, we would finger them 
tightly ! r 1 

Leicester moved hastily on, neglecting the cour- 
tesies he had hitherto dispensed so liberally, and 
hurrying through the courtly crowd, until he paused 
in a small withdrawing-room, into which he plunged 
to draw a moment’s breath unobserved, and in 
seclusion. 

“ What am I now,” he said to himself, “ that am 
thus jaded by the words of a mean, weatherbeaten, 
goose-brained gull ! — Conscience, thou art a blood- 
1 Note VI. — Robert Laneham. 


KENILWORTH. 


287 


hound, whose growl wakes as readily at the paltry 
stir of a rat or mouse, as at the step of a lion. — Can 
I not quit myself, by one bold stroke, of a state so 
irksome, so unhonoured ? What if I kneel to Eliza- 
beth, and, owning the whole, throw myself on her 
mercy ? ” — 

As he pursued this train of thought, the door of 
the apartment opened, and Varney rushed in. 

“ Thank God, my lord, that I have found you ! ” 
was his exclamation. 

“ Thank the devil, whose agenf thou art,” was the 
Earl’s reply. 

“ Thank whom you will, my lord,” said Varney ; 
but hasten to the water-side. The Queen is on 
board, and asks for you.” 

“ Go, say I am taken suddenly ill,” replied Lei- 
cester ; “ for, by Heaven, my brain can sustain this 
no longer I ” 

“I may well say so,” said Varney, with bitter- 
ness of expression, “for your place, ay, and mine, 
who, as your master of the horse, was to have 
attended your lordship, is already filled up in the 
Queen’s barge. The new minion, Walter Raleigh, and 
our old acquaintance, Tressilian, were called for to 
fill our places just as I hastened away to seek you.” 

“Thou art a devil, Varney,” said Leicester, 
hastily ; “ but thou hast the mastery for the pre- 
sent — I follow thee.” 

Varney replied not, but led the way out of the 
palace, and towards the river, while his master fol- 
lowed him, as if mechanically ; until, looking back, 
he said in a tone which savoured of familiarity at 
least, if not of authority, “ How is this, my lord ? — 
your cloak hangs on one side, — your hose are un- 
braced — permit me ” 


KENILWORTH. 


“ Thou art a fool, Varney, as well as a knave,” 
said Leicester, shaking him off, and rejecting his 
officious assistance ; " we are best thus, sir — when 
we require you to order our person, it is well, but 
now we want you not.” 

So saying, the Earl resumed at once his air of 
command, and with it his self-possession — shook 
his dress into yet wilder disorder — passed before 
Varney with the air of a superior and master, and 
in his turn led the way to the river-side. 

The Queen’s barge was on the very point of put- 
ting off; the seat allotted to Leicester in the stern, 
and that to his master of the horse on the bow of 
the boat, being already filled up. But on Leices- 
ter’s approach, there was a pause, as if the barge- 
men anticipated some alteration in their company 
The angry spot was, however, on the Queen’s cheek, 
as, in that cold tone with which superiors endeavour 
to veil their internal agitation, while speaking to 
those before whom it would be derogation to ex- 
press it, she pronounced the chilling words — “We 
have waited, my Lord of Leicester.” 

“ Madam, and most gracious Princess,” said Lei- 
cester, “ you, who can pardon so many weaknesses 
which your own heart never knows, can best bestow 
your commiseration on the agitations of the bosom, 
which, for a moment, affect both head and limbs. 
I came to your presence, a doubting and an accused 
subject; your goodness penetrated the clouds of 
defamation, and restored me to my honour, and, 
what is yet dearer, to your favour — is it wonderful, 
though for me it is most unhappy, that my master 
of the horse should have found me in a state which 
scarce permitted me to make the exertion necessary 
to follow him to this place, when one glance of your 


KENILWORTH. 


289 


Highness, although, alas ! an angry one, has had 
power to do that for me, in which Esculapius might 
have failed ? ” 

“ How is this ? ” said Elizabeth hastily, looking at 
Yarney ; “hath your lord been ill ?” 

“ Something of a fainting fit,” answered the ready- 
witted Yarney, “ as your Grace may observe from 
his present condition. My lord’s haste would not 
permit me leisure even to bring his dress into order.” 

“ It matters not,” said Elizabeth, as she gazed 
on the noble face and form of Leicester, to which 
even the strange mixture of passions by which he 
had been so lately agitated, gave additional interest, 
“ make room for my noble lord — Your place, Mas- 
ter Yarney, has been filled up ; you must find a seat 
in another barge.” 

Yarney bowed, and withdrew. 

“ And you, too, our young Squire of the Cloak,” 
added she, looking at Raleigh, “ must, for the time, 
go to the barge of our ladies of honour. As for 
Tressilian, he hath already suffered too much by the 
caprice of women, that I should aggrieve him by 
my change of plan, so far as he is concerned.” 

Leicester seated himself in his place in the barge, 
and close to the Sovereign ; Raleigh rose to retire, 
and Tressilian would have been so ill-timed in his 
courtesy as to offer to relinquish his own place to 
his friend, had not the acute glance of Raleigh him- 
self, who seemed now in his native element, made 
him sensible, that so ready a disclamation of the 
royal favour might be misinterpreted. He sate si- 
lent, therefore, whilst Raleigh, with a profound bow, 
and a look of the deepest humiliation, was about to 
quit his place. 

A noble courtier, the gallant Lord Willoughby, 


KENILWORTH. 


4$o 

read, as he thought, something in the Queen’s face 
which seemed to pity Raleigh’s real or assumed 
semblance of mortification. 

“ It is not for us old courtiers,” he said, “ to hide 
the sunshine from the young ones. I will, with her 
Majesty’s leave, relinquish for. an hour that which 
her subjects hold dearest, the delight of her High- 
ness’s presence, and mortify myself by walking in 
star-light, while I forsake for a brief season, the glory 
of Diana’s own beams. I will take place in the 
boat which the ladies occupy, and permit this young 
cavalier his hour of promised felicity.” 

The Queen replied, with an expression betwixt 
mirth and earnest, “ If you are so willing to leave 
us, my lord, we cannot help the mortification. But, 
under favour, we do not trust you — old and expe- 
rienced as you may deem yourself — with the care 
of our young ladies of honour. Your venerable age, 
my lord,” she continued, smiling, “ may be better 
assorted with that of my Lord Treasurer, who fol- 
lows in the third boat, and whose experience even 
my Lord Willoughby’s may be improved by.” 

Lord Willoughby hid his disappointment under 
a smile — laughed, was confused, bowed, and left 
the Queen’s barge to go on board my Lord Bur- 
leigh’s. Leicester, who endeavoured to divert his 
thoughts from all internal reflection, by fixing them 
on what was passing around, watched this circum- 
stance among others. But when the boat put off 
from the shore — when the music sounded from a 
barge which accompanied them — when the shouts 
of the populace were heard from the shore, and all 
reminded him of the situation in which he was 
placed, he abstracted his thoughts and feelings by a 
strong effort from every thing but the necessity of 


KENILWORTH. 


101 

maintaining himself in the favour of his patroness, 
and exerted his talents of pleasing captivation with 
such success, that the Queen, alternately delighted 
with his conversation, and alarmed for his health, 
at length imposed a temporary silence on him, with 
playful yet anxious care, lest his flow of spirits 
should exhaust him. 

“My lords,” she said, “having passed for a time 
our edict of silence upon our good Leicester, we will 
call you to counsel on a gamesome matter, more 
fitted to be now treated of, amidst mirth and music, 
than in the gravity of our ordinary deliberations. — 
Which of you, my lords,” said she, smiling, “ know 
aught of a petition from Orson Pinnit, the keeper, 
as he qualifies himself, of our royal hears ? Who 
stands godfather to his request ? ” 

“ Marry, with your Grace’s good permission, that 
do I,” said the Earl of Sussex. — “ Orson Pinnit 
was a stout soldier before he was so mangled by the 
skenes of the Irish clan MacDonough, and I trust 
your Grace will be, as you always have been, good 
mistress to your good and trusty servants.” 

“ Surely,” said the Queen, “ it is our purpose 
to be so, and in especial to our poor soldiers and 
sailors, who hazard their lives for little pay. We 
would give,” she said, with her eyes sparkling, “ yon- 
der royal palace of ours to he an hospital for their 
use, rather than they should call their mistress un- 
grateful. — But this is not the question,” she said, 
her voice, which had been awakened by her patriotic 
feelings, once more subsiding into the tone of gay 
and easy conversation ; “ for this Orson Pinnit’s 
request goes something farther. He complains, that 
amidst the extreme delight with which men haunt 
the play-houses, and in especial their eager desire 


292 


KENILWORTH. 


for seeing the exhibitions of one Will Shakspeare, 
(whonrf, I think, my lords, we have all heard some- 
thing of,) the manly amusement of bear-baiting is 
falling into comparative neglect ; since men will 
rather throng to see these roguish players kill each 
other in jest, than to see our royal dogs and bears 
worry each other in bloody earnest — What say you 
to this, my Lord of Sussex ? ” 

“ Why, truly, gracious madam,” said Sussex, 
“ you must expect little from an old soldier like me 
in favour of battles in sport, when they are coim 
pared with battles in earnest ; and yet, by my faith, 
I wish Will Shakspeare no harm. He is a stout 
man at quarter-staff, and single falchion, though, as 
I am told, a halting fellow ; and he stood, they say, 
a tough fight with the rangers of old Sir Thomas 
Lucy of Charlecot, when he broke his deer-park and 
kissed his keeper’s daughter” 

"I cry you mercy, my Lord of Sussex,” said 
Queen Elizabeth, interrupting him ; “ that matter 
was heard in council, and we will not have this 
fellow’s offence exaggerated — there was no kiss- 
ing in the matter, and the defendant hath put the 
denial on record. — But what say you to his pres- 
ent practice, my lord, on the stage ? for there lies 
the point, and not in any ways touching his former 
errors, in breaking parks, or the other follies you 
speak of.” 

“Why, truly, madam,” replied Sussex, “as I 
said before, I wish the gamesome mad fellow no in- 
jury. Some of his whoreson poetry (I crave your 
Grace’s pardon for such a phrase) has rung in mine 
ears as if the lines sounded to boot and saddle. — 
But then it is all froth and folly — no substance or 
seriousness in it, as your Grace has already well 


KENILWORTH. 


293 


touched. — What are half a dozen knaves, with rusty 
foils and tattered targets, making but a mere mock- 
ery of a stout fight, to compare to the royal game 
of bear-baiting, which hath been graced by your 
Highness’s countenance, and that of your royal pre- 
decessors, in this your princely kingdom, famous 
for matchless mastiffs, and bold bearwards, over all 
Christendom ? Greatly is it to be doubted that the 
race of both will decay, if men should throng to hear 
the lungs of an idle player belch forth nonsensical 
bombast, instead of bestowing their pence in encour- 
aging the bravest image of war that can be shown 
in peace, and that is the sports of the Bear-garden. 
There you may see the bear lying at guard with his 
red pinky eyes, watching the onset of the mastiff, 
like a wily captain, who maintains his defence that 
an assailant may be tempted to venture within his 
danger. And then comes Sir Mastiff, like a worthy 
champion, in full career at the throat of his adver- 
sary — and then shall Sir Bruin teach him the re- 
ward for those who, in their over-courage, neglect 
the policies of war, and, catching him in his arms, 
strain him to his breast like a lusty wrestler, tmtil 
rib after rib orack like the shot of a pistolet. And 
then another mastiff, as bold, but with better aim 
and sounder judgment, catches Sir Bruin by the 
nether lip, and hangs fast, while he tosses about his 
blood and slaver, and tries in vain to shake Sir Tal- 
bot from his hold. And then” 

“Nay, by my honour, my lord," said the Queen, 
laughing, “you have described the whole so ad- 
mirably, that, had we never seen a bear-baiting, as 
we have beheld many, and hope, with heaven’s allow- 
ance, to see many more, your words were sufficient 
to put the whole Bear-garden before our eyes — But 


294 


KENILWORTH. 


come, who speaks next in this case ? -r My Lord of 
Leicester, what say you ? ” 

“Am I then to consider myself as unmuzzled, 
please your Grace ? ” replied Leicester. 

“ Surely, my lord — that is, if you feel hearty 
enough to take part in our game,” answered Eliza- 
beth ; “ and yet, when I think of your cognizance 
of the bear and ragged staff, methinks we had 
better hear some less partial orator.” 

“ Nay, on my word, gracious Princess,” said the 
Earl, “though my brother Ambrose of Warwick 
and I do carry the ancient cognizance your High- 
ness deigns to remember, I nevertheless desire 
nothing but fair play on all sides ; or, as they say, 

‘ fight dog, fight bear/ And in behalf of the players, 
I must needs say that they are witty knaves, whose 
rants and jests keep the minds of the commons from 
busying themselves with state affairs, and listening 
to traitorous speeches, idle rumours, and disloyal 
insinuations. When men are agape to see how 
Marlow, Shakspeare, and other play artificers, work 
out their fanciful plots, as they call them, the mind 
of the spectators is withdrawn from the conduct of 
their rulers.” 

“We would not have the mind of our subjects 
withdrawn from the consideration of our own con- 
duct, my lord,” answered Elizabeth ; “ because the 
more closely it is examined, the true motives by 
which we are guided will appear the more manifest.” 

“ I have heard, however, madam,” said the Dean 
of St. Asaph’s, an eminent Puritan, “that these 
players are wont, in their plays, not only to intro- 
duce profane and lewd expressions, tending to fos- 
ter sin and harlotry, but even to bellow out such 
reflections on government, its origin and its object, 


KENILWORTH. 


295 


as tend to render the subject discontented, and shake 
the solid foundations of civil society. And it seems 
to be, under your Grace’s favour, far less than safe 
to permit these naughty foul-mouthed knaves to ridi- 
cule the godly for their decent gravity, and in blas- 
pheming heaven, and slandering its earthly rulers, 
to set at defiance the laws both of God and man.” 

“ If we could think this were true, my lord,” said 
Elizabeth, “we should give sharp correction for 
such offences. But it is ill arguing against the use 
of any thing from its abuse. And touching this 
Shakspeare, we think there is that in his plays that 
is worth twenty Bear-gardens ; and that this new 
undertaking of his Chronicles, as he calls them, may 
entertain, with honest mirth, mingled with useful 
instruction, not only our subjects, but even the gen- 
eration which may succeed to us.” 

“ Your Majesty’s reign will need no such feeble 
aid to make it remembered to the latest posterity,” 
said Leicester. “And yet, in his way, Shakspeare 
hath so touched some incidents of your Majesty’s 
happy government, as may countervail what has 
been spoken by his reverence the Dean of St. Asaph’s. 
There are some lines, for example — I would my 
nephew, Philip Sidney, were here, they are scarce 
ever out of his mouth — they are spoken in a mad 
tale of fairies, love-charms, and I wot not what be- 
sides ; but beautiful they are, however short they 
may and must fall of the subject to which they 
bear a bold relation — and Philip murmurs them, I 
think, even in his dreams.” 

“You tantalize us, my lord,” said the Queen — 
“Master Philip Sidney is, we know, a minion of 
the Muses, and we are pleased it should be so. 
Valour never shines to more advantage than when 


296 


KENILWORTH. 


united with the true taste and love of letters. But 
surely there are some others among our young 
courtiers who can recollect what your lordship has 
forgotten amid weightier affairs. — Master Tressi- 
lian, you are described to me as a worshipper of 
Minerva — remember you aught of these lines ? ” 
Tressilian’s heart was too heavy, his prospects 
in life too fatally blighted, to profit by the oppor- 
tunity which the Queen thus offered to him of at- 
tracting her attention, but he determined to transfer 
the advantage to his more ambitious young friend ; 
and, excusing himself on the score of want of recol- 
lection, he added, that he believed the beautiful verses, 
of which my Lord of Leicester had spoken, were 
in the remembrance of Master Walter Raleigh. 

At the command of the Queen, that cavalier re- 
peated, with accent and manner which even added 
to their exquisite delicacy of tact and beauty of 
description, the celebrated vision of Oberon : 

u That very time I saw, (but thou couldst not,) 
Flying between the cold moon and the earth, 

Cupid, all arm'd : a certain aim he took 
At a fair vestal, throned by the west ; 

And loos’d his love-shaft smartly from his bow. 

As it should pierce a hundred thousand hearts : 

But I might see young Cupid’s fiery shaft 
Quench’d in the chaste beams of the watery moon ; 
And the imperial vot’ress passed on, 

In maiden meditation, fancy free.* 

The voice of Raleigh, as he repeated the last lines, 
became a little tremulous, as if diffident how the 
Sovereign to whom the homage was addressed might 
receive it, exquisite as it was. If this diffidence was 
affected, it was good policy ; but if real, there was 
little occasion for it. The verses were not probably 


KENILWORTH. 


297 


new to the Queen, for when was ever such elegant 
flattery long in reaching the royal ear to which it 
was addressed ? But they were not the less wel- 
come when repeated by such a speaker as Ealeigh. 
Alike delighted with the matter, the manner, and 
the graceful form and animated countenance of the 
gallant young reciter, Elizabeth kept time to every 
cadence, with look and with finger. When the 
speaker had ceased, she murmured’ over the last 
lines as if scarce conscious that she was overheard, 
and as she uttered the words, 

“ In maiden meditation, fancy free,” 

she dropt into the Thames the supplication of Or- 
son Pinnit, keeper of the royal bears, to find more 
favourable acceptance at Sheerness, or wherever 
the tide might waft it. 

Leicester was spurred to emulation by the success 
of the young courtier’s exhibition, as the veteran 
racer is roused when a high-mettled colt passes him 
on the way. He turned the discourse on shows, ban- 
quets, pageants, and on the character of those by 
whom these gay scenes were then frequented. He 
mixed acute observation with light satire, in that 
just proportion which was free alike from malig- 
nant slander and insipid praise. He mimicked with 
ready accent the manners of the affected or the 
clownish, and made his own graceful tone and man- 
ner seem doubly such when he resumed it. For- 
eign countries — their customs — their manners — 
the rules of their courts — the fashions, and even the 
dress of their ladies, were equally his theme ; and 
seldom did he conclude without conveying some 
compliment, always couched in delicacy, and ex- 


KENILWORTH. 


298 

pressed with propriety, to the Virgin Queen, her 
court and her government. Thus passed the con- 
versation during this pleasure voyage, seconded by 
the rest of the attendants upon the royal person, in 
gay discourse, varied by remarks upon ancient clas- 
sics and modern authors, and enriched by maxims 
of deep policy and sound morality, by the states- 
men and sages who sate around, and mixed wisdom 
with the lighter talk of a female court. 

. When they returned to the palace, Elizabeth ac- 
cepted, or rather selected, the arm of Leicester, to 
support her, from the stairs where they landed, to 
the great gate. It even seemed to him, (though that 
might arise from the flattery of his own imagina- 
tion,) that during this short passage, she leaned on 
him somewhat more than the slippiness of the way 
necessarily demanded. Certainly her actions and 
words combined to express a degree of favour, 
which, even in his proudest days, he had not till 
then attained. His rival, indeed, was repeatedly 
graced by the Queen’s notice ; but it was in a man- 
ner that seemed to flow less from spontaneous in- 
clination, than as extorted by a sense of his merit. 
And, in the opinion of many experienced courtiers, 
all the favour she showed him was overbalanced, 
by her whispering in the ear of the Lady Derby, 
that “ now she saw sickness was a better alchymist 
than she before wotted of, seeing it had changed my 
Lord of Sussex’s copper nose into a golden one.” 

The jest transpired, and the Earl of Leicester en- 
joyed his triumph, as one to whom court favour had 
been both the primary and the ultimate motive of life, 
while he forgot in the intoxication of the moment, 
the perplexities and dangers of his own situation. 
Indeed, strange as it may appear, he thought less at 


KENILWORTH. 


*99 

that moment of the perils arising from his secret 
union, than of the marks of grace which Elizabeth 
from time to time showed to young Raleigh. They 
were indeed transient, but they were conferred on 
one accomplished in mind and body, with grace, 
gallantry, literature, and valour. An accident oc- 
curred in the course of the evening which riveted 
Leicester’s attention to this object. 

The nobles and courtiers who had attended the 
Queen on her pleasure expedition, were invited, 
with royal hospitality, to a splendid banquet in the 
hall of the palace. The table was not, indeed, 
graced by the presence of the Sovereign ; for, agree- 
able to her idea of what was at once modest and 
dignified, the Maiden Queen, on such occasions, was 
wont to take in private, or with one or two favour- 
ite ladies, her light and temperate meal. After a 
moderate interval, the court again met in the splen- 
did gardens of the palace ; and it was while thus 
engaged, that the Queen suddenly asked a lady, who 
was near to her both in place and favour, what had 
become of the young Squire Lack-Cloak. 

The Lady Paget answered, “ she had seen Mas- 
ter Raleigh but two or three minutes since, stand- 
ing at the window of a small pavilion or pleasure 
house, which looked out on the Thames, and writ- 
ing on the glass with a diamond ring.” 

“ That ring,” said the Queen, “ was a small token 
I gave him, to make amends for his spoiled mantle. 
Come, Paget, let us see what use he has made of it, 
for I can see through him already. He is a mar- 
vellously sharp-witted spirit.” 

They went to the spot, within sight of which, but 
at some distance, the young cavalier still lingered, 
as the fowler watches the net which he has set 


300 


KENILWORTH. 


The Queen approached the window, on which Ra- 
leigh had used her gift, to inscribe the following 
line : — 

“ Fain would I climb, but that I fear to fall.** 

The Queen smiled, read it twice over, once with 
deliberation to Lady Paget, and once again to her- 
self. “ It is a pretty beginning,” she said, after the 
consideration of a moment or two ; “ but methinks 
the muse hath deserted the young wit, at the very 
outset of his task. It were good-natured — were 
it not, Lady Paget — to complete it for him ? Try 
your rhyming faculties.” 

Lady Paget, prosaic from her -cradle upwards, as 
ever any lady of the bedchamber before or after 
her, disclaimed all possibility of assisting the young 
poet. 

“ Nay, then, we must sacrifice to the Muses our- 
selves,” said Elizabeth. 

“ The incense of no one can be more acceptable,” 
said Lady Paget ; “ and your highness will impose 
such obligation on the ladies of Parnassus ” 

“ Hush, Paget,” said the Queen, ‘‘you speak sacri- 
lege against the immortal Nine — yet virgins them- 
selves, they should be exorable to a Virgin Queen — 
and therefore — let me see how runs his verse — 

* Fain would I climb, but that I fear to fall.' 

Might not the answer (for fault of a better) run 
chus — 

If thy mind fail thee, do not climb at all.* 

The dame of honour uttered an exclamation of 
joy and surprise at so happy a termination ; and 


KENILWORTH. 


301 


certainly a worse has been applauded, even when 
coming from a less distinguished author. 

The Queen, thus encouraged, took off a diamond 
ring, and saying, “We will give this gallant some 
cause of marvel, when he finds his couplet perfected 
without his own interference,” she wrote her own 
line beneath that of Raleigh. 

The Queen left the pavilion — but retiring slowly, 
and often looking back, she could see the young 
cavalier steal, with the flight of a lapwing, towards 
the place where he had seen her make a pause ; — 
“ She staid but to observe,” as she said, “ that her 
train had taken ; ” and then, laughing at the circum- 
stance with the Lady Paget, she took the way 
slowly towards the palace. Elizabeth, as they re- 
turned, cautioned her companion not to mention to 
any one the aid which she had given to the young 
poet — and Lady Paget promised scrupulous secrecy. 
It is to be supposed, that she made a mental reser- 
vation in favour of Leicester, to whom her ladyship 
transmitted without delay an anecdote, so little 
calculated to give him pleasure. 

Raleigh, in the meanwhile, stole back to the win- 
dow, and read, with a feeling of intoxication, the 
encouragement thus given him by the Queen in 
person to follow out his ambitious career, and re- 
turned to Sussex and his retinue, then on the point 
of embarking to go up the river, his heart beating 
high with gratified pride, and with hope of future 
distinction. 

The reverence due to the person of the Earl pre- 
vented any notice being taken of the reception he 
had met with at court, until they had landed, and 
the household were assembled in the great hall at 
Say’s Court ; while that lord, exhausted by his late 


302 


KENILWORTH. 


illness, and the fatigues of the day, had retired to 
his chamber, demanding the attendance of Way- 
land, his successful physician. Way land, however, 
was nowhere to be found ; and, while some of the 
party were, with military impatience, seeking him, 
and cursing his absence, the rest flocked around 
Raleigh, to congratulate him on his prospects of 
court favour. 

He had the good taste and judgment to conceal 
the decisive circumstance of the couplet, to which 
Elizabeth had deigned to find a rhyme ; but other 
indications had transpired, which plainly intimated 
that he had made some progress in the Queen’s 
favour. All hastened to wish him joy on the mended 
appearance of his fortune : some from real regard, 
some, perhaps, from hopes that his preferment might 
hasten their own ; and most from a mixture of these 
motives, and a sense that the countenance shown 
to any one of Sussex’s household, was, in fact, a 
triumph to the whole. Raleigh returned the kind- 
est thanks to them all, disowning, with becoming 
modesty, that one. day’s fair reception made a fav- 
ourite, any more than one swallow a summer. But 
he observed that Blount did not join in the general 
congratulation, and, somewhat hurt at his apparent 
unkindness, he plainly asked him the reason. 

Blount replied with equal sincerity — “ My good 
Walter, I wish thee as well as do any of these chat- 
tering gulls, who are whistling and whooping gratu- 
lations in thine ear, because it seems fair weather 
with thee. But I fear for thee, Walter,” (and he 
wiped his honest eye,) “ I fear for thee with all my 
heart. These court-tricks, and gambols, and flashes 
of fine women’s favour, are the tricks and trinkets 
that bring fair fortunes to farthings, and fine faces 


KENILWORTH. 


303 


and witty coxcombs to the acquaintance of dull 
block and sharp axes.” 

So saying, Blount arose and left the hall, while 
Raleigh looked after him with an expression that 
blanked for a moment his bold and animated 
countenance. 

Stanley just then entered the hall, and said to 
Tressilian, “ My lord is calling for your fellow 
Way land, and your fellow Wayland is just come 
hither in a sculler, and is calling for you, nor will 
he go to my lord till he sees you. The fellow looks 
as he were mazed, methinks — 1 would you would 
see him immediately.” 

Tressilian instantly left the hall, and causing 
Wayland Smith to be shown into a withdrawing 
apartment, and lights placed, he conducted the artist 
thither, and was surprised when he observed the 
emotion of his countenance. 

“What is the matter with you, Smith?” said 
Tressilian ; “ have you seen the devil ? ” 

“ Worse, sir, worse,” replied Wayland, “ I have 
seen a basilisk. Thank God, I saw him first, for 
being so seen, and seeing not me, he will do the less 
harm.” 

“In God’s name, speak sense,” said Tressilian, 
“ and say what you mean ! ” 

“ I have seen my old master,” said the artist — 
“ Last night, a friend whom I had acquired, took 
me to see the palace clock, judging me to be curious 
in such works of art. At the window of a turret 
next to the clock-house I saw my old master.” 

“Thou must needs have been mistaken,” said 
Tressilian. 

“I was not mistaken,” said Wayland — “He that 
once hath his features by heart, would know him 


304 


KENILWORTH. 


amongst a million. He was anticly habited ; but 
he cannot disguise himself from me, God be praised, 
as I can from him. I will not, however, tempt 
Providence by remaining within his ken. Tarleton 
the player himself could not so disguise himself, but 
that, sooner or later, Doboobie would find him out. 
I must away to-morrow ; for, as we stand together, 
it were death to me to remain within reach of him.” 

“ But the Earl of Sussex ? ” said Tressilian. 

“ He is in little danger from what he has hitherto 
taken, provided he swallow the matter of a bean’s 
size of the Orvietan, every morning fasting — but 
let him beware of a relapse.” 

“ And how is that to be guarded against ? ” said 
Tressilian. 

“ Only by such caution as you would use against 
the devil,” answered Wayland. “ Let my lord’s 
clerk of the kitchen kill his lord’s meat himself, and 
dress it himself, using no spice but what he pro- 
cures from the surest hands — Let the sewer serve 
it up himself, and let the master of my lord’s house- 
hold see that both clerk and sewer taste the dishes 
which the one dresses and the other serves. Let 
my lord use no perfumes which come not from well 
accredited persons ; no unguents — no pomades. 
Let him, on no account, drink with strangers, or eat 
fruit with them, either in the way of nooning or 
otherwise. Especially, let him observe such cau- 
tion if he goes to Kenilworth — the excuse of his 
illness, and his being under diet, will, and must, 
cover the strangeness of such practice.” 

“And thou,” said Tressilian, “what dost thou 
think to make of thyself ? ” 

“ France, Spain, either India, East or West, shall 
be my refuge,” said Wayland, “ere I venture my 


KENILWORTH. 


305 


life by residing within ken of Doboobie, Demetrius, 
or whatever else he calls himself for the time.” 

“Well,” said Tressilian, “this happens not inop- 
portunely — I had business for you in Berkshire, 
but in the opposite extremity to the place where 
thou art known ; and ere thou hadst found out this 
new reason for living private, I had settled to send 
thee thither upon a secret embassage.” 

The artist expressed himself willing to receive 
his commands, and Tressilian, knowing he was well 
acquainted with the outline of his business at court, 
frankly explained to him the whole, mentioned the 
agreement which subsisted betwixt Giles Gosling 
and him, and told what had that day been averred 
in the presence-chamber by Varney, and supported 
by Leicester. 

“ Thou seest,” he added, “ that, in the circum- 
stances in which I am placed, it behoves me to keep 
a narrow watch on the motions of these unprincipled 
men, Varney and his complices, Foster and Lam- 
bourne, as well as on those of my Lord Leicester 
himself, who, I suspect, is partly a deceiver, and 
not altogether the deceived in that matter. Here 
is my ring, as a pledge to Giles Gosling — here is 
besides gold, which shall be trebled if thou serve 
me faithfully. Away down to Cumnor, and see 
what happens there.” 

“ I go with double good-will,” said the artist, 
“ first, because I serve your honour, who has been 
so kind to me, and then, that I may escape my old 
master, who, if not an absolute incarnation of the 
devil, has, at least, as much of the demon about him, 
in will, word, and action, as ever polluted human- 
ity. — And yet let him take care of me. I fly him 
now, as heretofore ; but if, like the Scottish wild 


KENILWORTH. 


306 

cattle , 1 I am vexed by frequent pursuit, I may turn 
on him in hate and desperation. — Will your honour 
command my nag to be saddled ? I will but give the 
medicine to my lord, divided in its proper propor- 
tions, with a few instructions. His safety will then 
depend on the care of his friends and domestics — 
for the past he is guarded, but let him beware of 
the future.” 

Way land Smith accordingly made his farewell 
visit to the Earl of Sussex, dictated instructions as 
to his regimen, and precautions concerning his diet, 
and left Say’s Court without waiting for morning. 


1 A remnant of the wild cattle of Scotland are preserved at 
Chillingham Castle, near Wooler, in Northumberland, the seat of 
Lord Tankerville. They fly before strangers ; but if disturbed and 
followed, they turn with fury on those who persist in annoying 
them. 


f 


**r . t- 




AUTHOR’S NOTES. 



Note I., p. 45. — Foster, Lambourne, and the Black 

Bear. 

If faith is to be put in epitaphs, Anthony Foster was some- 
thing the very reverse of the character represented in the 
novel. Ashmole gives this description of his tomb. I copy 
from the Antiquities of Berkshire, vol. i., p. 143. 

“ In the north wall of the chancel at Cumnor church, is a 
monument of grey marble, whereon, in brass plates, are en- 
graved a man in armour, and his wife in the habit of her 
times, both kneeling before a fald-stoole, together with the 
figures of three sons kneeling behind their mother. Under the 
ligure of the man is this inscription: 

Antonius Forster, generis generosa propago, 

Cumnerae Dominus, Bercheriensis erat. 

Armiger, Armigero prognatus patre Ricardo, 

Qui quondam Iphlethae Salopiensis erat. 

Quatuor ex isto fluxerunt stemmate nati, 

Ex isto Antonius stemmate quartus erat. 

Mente sagax, animo precellens, corpore promptus ; 

Eloquii dulcis, ore disertus erat. 

In factis probitas; fuit in sermone venustas, 

In vultu gravitas, relligione fides, 

In patriam pietas, in egenos grata voluntas, 

Accedunt reliquis annumeranda bonis. 

Si quod cuncta rapit, rapuit non omnia Lethum, 

Si quod Mors rapuit, vivida fama dedit. 


“ These verses following are writ at length, two by two, in 
praise of him ; 


> 


308 


AUTHOR’S NOTES. 


Argute resonas Cithare pretendere chorda* 

Novit, et Aonia concrepuisse Lyra. 

Gaudebat terre teneras defigere plantas ; 

Et rnira pulchras construere arte domos, 

Composita varias lingua formare loquelas 
Doctus, et edocta scribere multa manu. 

“ The arms over it thus: 

~ ( I. 3 Hunter’s Horns stringed. 

muar . | xi. 3 Pinions with their points upwards. 

“ The crest is a Stag Couchant, vulnerated through the neck 
by a broad arrow; on his side is a Martlett for a difference.” 

From this monumental inscription it appears, that Anthony 
Forster, instead of being a vulgar, low-bred, puritanical churl, 
was in fact a gentleman of birth and consideration, distin- 
guished for his skill in the arts of music and horticulture, as 
also in languages. In so far, therefore, the Anthony Foster of 
the romance has nothing but the name in common with the 
real individual. But notwithstanding the charity, benevolence, 
and religious faith imputed by the monument of grey marble 
to its tenant, tradition, as well as secret history, name him as 
the active agent in the death of the Countess; and it is added, 
that from being a jovial and convivial gallant, as we may infer 
from some expressions in the epitaph, he sunk, after the fatal 
deed, into a man of gloomy and retired habits, whose looks 
and manners indicated that he suffered under the pressure of 
some atrocious secret. 

The name of Lambourne is still known in the vicinity, and 
it is said some of the clan partake the habits, as well as name, 
of the Michael Lambourne of the romance. A man of this 
name lately murdered his wife, outdoing Michael in this re- 
spect, who only was concerned in the murder of the wife of 
another man. 

I have only to add, that the jolly Black Bear has been re- 
stored to his predominance over bowl and bottle, in the village 
of Cumnor. 


Note II., p. 212. — Legend of Wayland Smith. 

The great defeat, given by Alfred to the Danish invaders, is 
said, by Mr. Gough, to have taken place near Ashdown, in 


AUTHOR’S NOTES. 


- ..A' 

3°9 

Berkshire. “The burial place of Baereg, the Danish chief, 
who was slain in this fight, is distinguished by a parcel of 
stones, less than a mile from the hill, set on edge, enclosing a 
piece of ground somewhat raised. On the east side of the 
southern extremity, stand three squarish flat stones, of about 
four or five feet over either way, supporting a fourth, and now 
called by the vulgar Wayland Smith, from an idle tradition 
about an invisible smith replacing lost horse-shoes there.” — 
Gough’s edition of Camden’s Britannia, vol. i., p. 221. 

The popular belief still retains memory of this wild legend, 
which, connected as it is with the site of a Danish sepulchre, 
may have arisen from some legend concerning the northern 
Duergar, who resided in the rocks, and were cunning workers 
in steel and iron. It was believed that Wayland Smith’s fee 
was sixpence, and that, unlike other workmen, he was offended 
if more was offered. Of late his offices have again been called 
to memory; but fiction has in this, as in other cases, taken the 
liberty to pillage the stores of oral tradition. This monu- 
ment must be very ancient, for it has been kindly pointed out 
to me that it is referred to in an ancient Saxon charter, as a 
landmark. The monument has been of late cleared out, and 
made considerably more conspicuous. 

Note III., p. 223. — Leicester and Sussex. 

Naunton gives us numerous and curious particulars of the 
jealous struggle which took place between Ratcliffe, Earl of 
Sussex, and the rising favourite Leicester. The former, when 
on his deathbed, predicted to his followers, that, after his 
death, the gipsy (so he called Leicester, from his dark com- 
plexion) would prove too many for them. 

Note IV., p. 227. — Sir Walter Raleigh. 

Among the attendants and adherents of Sussex, we have 
ventured to introduce the celebrated Raleigh, in the dawn of 
his court favour. 

In Aubrey’s correspondence there are some curious particu- 
lars of Sir Walter Raleigh. “ He was a tall, handsome, bold 
man; but his naeve was that he was damnably proud. Old 
Sir Robert Harley of Brampton Brian Castle, who knew him, 
would say, it was a great question who was the proudest, Sir 


3 io 


AUTHOR’S NOTES. 


Walter, or Sir Thomas Overbury; but the difference that was, 
was judged in Sir Thomas’s side. In the great parlour at 
Downton, at Mr. Raleigh’s, is a good piece, an original of Sir 
Walter, in a white satin doublet, all embroidered with rich 
pearls, and a mighty rich chain of great pearls about his neck. 
The old servants have told me that the real pearls were near 
as big as the painted ones. He had a most remarkable aspect, 
an exceeding high forehead, long-faced, and sour-ey elided.” 
A rebus is added, to this purpose : 

The enemy to the stomach, and the word of disgrace, 

Is the name of the gentleman with the bold face. 

Sir Walter Raleigh’s beard turned up naturally, which gave 
him an advantage over the gallants of the time, whose mus- 
taches received a touch of the barber’s art to give them the air 
then most admired. — See Aubrey’s Correspondence , vol. ii., 
part ii., p. 500. 

Note V., p. 247. — Court favour of Sir Walter Raleigh. 

The gallant incident of the cloak is the traditional account 
of this celebrated statesman’s rise at court. None of Elizabeth’s 
courtiers knew better than he how to make his court to her 
personal vanity, or could more justly estimate the quantity of 
flattery which she could condescend to swallow. Being con- 
fined in the Tower for some offence, and understanding the 
Queen was about to pass to Greenwich in her barge, he insisted 
on approaching the window, that he might see, at whatever 
distance, the Queen of his Affections, the most beautiful object 
which the earth bore on its surface. The Lieutenant of the 
Tower (his own particular friend) threw himself between his 
prisoner and the window; while Sir Walter, apparently in- 
fluenced by a fit of unrestrainable passion, swore he would not 
be debarred from seeing his light, his life, his goddess! A 
scuffle ensued, got up for effect’s sake, in which the Lieutenant 
and his captive grappled and struggled with fury — tore each 
other’s hair, — and at length drew daggers, and were only 
separated by force. The Queen being informed of this scene 
exhibited by her frantic adorer, it wrought, as was to be ex- 
pected, much in favour of the captive Paladin. There is 
little doubt that his quarrel with the Lieutenant was entirely- 
contrived for the purpose which it produced. 


AUTHOR’S NOTES. 




Note VI., p. 286 . — Robert Laneham. 

Little is known of Robert Laneham, save in his curious 
letter to a friend in London, -giving an account of Queen Eliza- 
beth’s entertainments at Kenilworth, written in a style of the 
most intolerable affectation, both in point of composition and 
orthography. He describes himself as a bon mvant, who was 
wont to be jolly and dry in the morning, and by his good-will 
would be chiefly in the company of the ladies. He was, by 
the interest of Lord Leicester, Clerk of the Council Chamber 
door, and also keeper of the same. “ When council sits,” says 
he, “ I am at hand. If any makes a babbling, Peace , say I. 
If I see a listener or a pryer in at the chinks or lockhole, I am 
presently on the bones of him. If a friend comes, I make him 
sit down by me on a form or chest. The rest may walk, a 
God’s name ! ” There has been seldom a better portrait of 
the pragmatic conceit and self-importance of a small man in 
office. 












***s to./ - 
















/ 




* 





i 

















* 




























* 



EDITOR’S NOTES. 


(a) p. xxviii. “ Ashmole’s Antiquities of Berkshire.” Scott’s 
copy had belonged to Lysons (3 vols. small 8vo, London 1719). 
Ashmole’s version of the Cumnor Hall affair is partly derived 
from Parsons’s “ Leicester’s Commonwealth,” which reached 
England from abroad in 1585. Scott’s edition was of 1641. 
Ashmole’s tale contains many inaccuracies. 

(b) p. xxviii. “ One Owen.” The owner of Cumnor Hall, 
of whom Forster was the tenant, was Dr. Owen, the Queen’s 
physician. Forster bought the place in the year after Amy’s 
death. The deed of sale to Forster, in Latin, is in Mr. Rye’s 
“ Murder of Amy Robsart,” p. 77 (Stock, London 1885). 

(c) p. xxviii. “ Sir Richard Varney.” The name is usually 
written “ Verney.” A “Verney” received some of Lord 
Warwick’s clothes “ when that unhappy nobleman was spoiled 
by the Dudleys in 1550.” Apparently our Varney was not Sir 
Richard Verney of the Warwickshire family, who died in 1567, 
but a Richard Verney who in 1572 was given the Marshalship 
of the Bench. He died in 1575. But all this question as to 
which Varney, if any, was concerned in the affair is dubious. 
In 1559 Sir Richard Verney ’s servant went on an errand to 
Amy, carrying nothing more nefarious than “ two pair of hose.” 
So attests an old account-book at Longleat (“ Nineteenth Cen- 
tury,” March 1882, p. 423). 

(d) p. xxix. “ That day of her death alone with her.” 
Several ladies were with Amy, and according to report, com- 
municated by Blount to Leicester, Amy herself, not Forster, 
sent the servants to the fair. 

( e ) p. xxix. “ Forster.” Anthony Forster died in 1572. 
He received, in the sixth year of Elizabeth, large grants of 
Church lands. As was said, he bought Cumnor shortly after 
Amy’s death. 

(/) p. xxx. “ Bald Butter.” Butler, or Buttler, appears to 
be the real name. Scott, or Ashmole, has misprinted the word 
as it stands in “ Leicester’s Commonwealth.” 


EDITOR’S NOTES. 


314 

(g) p. xxx. “ Which her father . . . hearing of.” Her 
father was dead. This is one of the many inaccuracies borrowed 
by Ashmole from“ Leicester’s Commonwealth.” 

(h) p. 1. “Giles Gosling, Mine Host.” Oddly enough, 
there was just such a garrulous yet cautious host at the inn 
in Abingdon, where Blount slept on his journey of Sept. 9 
from Windsor to Cumnor. Blount reports his gossip about 
the death of Amy to Leicester. The letters are in Vol. I. of 
Lord Braybrooke’s “ Pepys,” in an Appendix. 

( i ) p. 32. “ Lambourne.” The name is derived from the 

Lambourne, a beautiful trout stream which joins the Kennet 
at Newbury. 

( k ) p. 59. “ He threw his cloak around his left [arm].” 

Heavy and long rapiers were in use, the left foot was 
advanced, and the left arm in a cloak, or armed with a pon- 
iard, was used in parrying. 

( 1 1 ) p. 63. “ Janet.” Mrs. Pinto was really the name of 

Amy’s maid, who “dearly loved her,” but, according to 
Blount, attributed her death to accident, not suicide or mur- 
der. Mrs. Pinto, however, was at Abingdon Fair when the 
event happened. 

(m) p. 70. “ He must have his cabalists, like Dee and 

Allan.” Leicester had employed a Dr. Julio, much reviled 
in “ Leicester’s Commonwealth,” and one Csesar, an Italian 
surgeon who had relations with Dr. Dee, of magical repute. 
Leicester, in a letter, describes two Csesars as “ very villains, 
yet they found great favour of me in England.” (“ Leicester’s 
Correspondence,” Camden Society, p. 409. In Mr. Rye’s book, 
pp. 46, 47.) “ Caesar doth mean to come over to me,” writes 

Leicester (in the Netherlands, 1586) “ for some mischief.” 

( n ) p. 1 00. “ The young widow of France and Scotland ” — . 

Mary Stuart. It was proposed by Elizabeth that Mary should 
marry Leicester (March 1563: the proposal was renewed 
later). Mr. Froude thinks this was a sincere and disinterested 
offer of Elizabeth’s. As Mary had spoken of Leicester as 
Elizabeth’s Horse-Master who had killed his wife to make 
room for the English Queen, and as Elizabeth knew that 
Mary had said this, we may easily guess how far the proposal 
was serious or acceptable. 

( 0 ) p. 151. “Quid hoc ad Iphycli boves ? ” (“ What has 

this to do with the cattle of Iphiclus ? ”) A proverbial expres- 
sion. Iphiclus had lifted these cattle from Neleus, and they 


EDITOR’S NOTES. 


315 


were recovered by Melampus the soothsayer, who gave them 
to his brother Bias, while Bias was rewarded by the hand of 
the daughter of Neleus. A curious tale is told of the affair by 
Pherecydes. See Scholia to Iliad XV. 225 ; or the Iliad, 
in English Prose, by Lang, Leaf, and Myers, p. 417. The 
spelling ‘ Iphyclus ” is incorrect. 

(/?) p. 153. “ This poor Zany, this Wayland.” The original 

Wayland Smith, or Yaolundr, is a famous mythic artist, the 
Daedalus of the North. “ The Lay of Wayland ” is translated 
by Messrs. Powell and Yigfusson in their “ Corpus Poeticum 
Boreale ” (lib. 108). The lay is fragmentary, and corrupt. 
The story, as far as it can be discerned, runs thus. Egil, Slag- 
fin, and Wayland were three brothers, who became the lovers 
of three fays ; this seems to be a form of the Swan Maiden 
Marchen. In the ninth winter, the men found that their 
brides had fled. Egil and Slagfin set forth to look for their 
ladies ; Wayland sat at home, working at his stithy. Nidad, 
king of the Niars, entered the house while Wayland was hunt- 
ing, and stole one of his seven hundred rings. He, on his re- 
turn, noted that one was missing, and deemed that his wife 
had come back and taken it. In his sleep he was beset by the 
Niars, and, by the advice of Nidad’s wife, was ham-strung, and 
set to work on an island. He induced Nidad’s sons to come 
to him, slew them, fashioned their skulls into a cup for Nidad, 
their eyes and teeth into jewels for Nidad’s wife and daughter. 
Then he made him wings like Daedalus, flew to Nidad’s hall, 
and told him how he had slain his sons and seduced his daugh- 
ter in the island. He then flew off, and the fragment ends. 
This is the hero who gives his name to Wayland’s smithy, as 
to various Wayland’s Houses in Northern Europe. Alfred the 
Great calls him Fabricius. It is curious that Scott does not 
seem to have been acquainted with this Norse legend. 

(q) p. 190. “ Lidcote Hall, near Exmoor.” Amy’s father, 

as a matter of fact, had his home and lands in Norfolk. He 
and Dudley had a joint stewardship of Rising Castle. Amy, 
says Canon Jackson, is believed to have been born at Stansfield 
Hall, Norfolk, where Rush, in the present century, murdered 
the Jermy family. 

(r) p. 207. “ The Earl of Sussex.” “ The Earl of Leicester 

was much the more facete courtier, though Sussex was thought 
much the more honest man, and far the better soldier ; but 
he lay too open on his guard. . . . The queen upon sundry 


3 16 


EDITOR’S NOTES. 


occasions had much to do to appease and atone them.” On 
Sussex’s death-bed he said, “ Beware of the Gipsey ” (Leicester), 
“ or he will be too hard for you all ; you know not the beast 
as well as I do.” (Naunton, “ Fragmenta Regalia,” p. 49, 
London 1824. The first edition is of 1641.) 

(s) p. 212. “ Alfred’s Victory.” The battle of Ashendown. 

See Mr. Hughes’s “ Scouring of the White Horse ” for the 
local antiquities. 

(t) p. 223. “The illness of Sussex therefore happened so 
opportunely for Leicester.” “ Leicester’s Commonwealth ” 
attributes many poisonings to Leicester. This tattle is of no 
value : the age suspected all deaths which the physicians 
could not explain as caused by poison. Every notable person 
who expired was thought to have been “ Italianate.” Throg- 
morton, Lord Sheffield, Lord Essex (whose widow Leicester 
married secretly), Cardinal Chatillian, Lady Lennox, and Sus- 
sex himself were counted among Leicester’s victims, by aid of 
his Italian men of science. Mr. Rye thinks that “ there must 
be a limit to a man’s fair luck ” (“The Murder of Amy Rob- 
sart,” p. 44). But De Quincey said, in jest, that Wordsworth 
had the same luck : if he wanted an office, its holder always 
died ! Nobody recuses Wordsworth of being a poisoner, and 
indeed those stories of poisoning are tedious. Men were sus- 
picious in proportion to their ignorance of chemistry. 

(w) p. 283. “Will Shakspeare — wild Will!” This in- 
troduction >f Shakspeare at court in 1575, as the author of 
“ The Midsummer Night’s Dream,” is of course an intentional 
anachronism. 


July 1893. 


Andrew Lang. 


GLOSSAEY, 


A, in. 

A’, he. 

Abye, to suffer for. 

Almains, Germans. 

An, if. 

Anan, Eh ? I beg your pardon? 

Artist, a craftsman, an artisan. 

Avised, advised. 

Ban-dog, a large fierce dog. 

Barbed, caparisoned. 

Bastard, a sweet Spanish wine. 

“Bears, are you there with 
your,” Are you there again ? 
Are you at it again ? 

Bearward, bearwarder, a bear- 
keeper. 

Beshrew, mischief take ! 

Besognio, a worthless fellow. 

Bots, a disease caused by para- 
sitical insects. 

Brill (the), a Dutch port. 

Brulziement, a quarrel. 

Bump, to make a hollow sound. 

Bush, the sign of a tavern. 

Ca, like ’Ban, abbreviated for 
Caliban. 

Caliver, a sixteenth-century 
musket. 

Cameradoes, comrades. 

Camiciae, shirts. 

Capotaine, a close-fitting hat. 

Cater-cousins, on terms of close 
intimacy. 

Caudle, a warm drink of gruel 
and wine, sweetened and 
spiced. 

Caviare, a dish prepared from 
the roe of the sturgeon. 


Chafe, to scold, to worry. 

Chuff, a miser. 

Clary, spiced wine. 

Clerkship, book-learning. 

Cogswounds, God’s wounds ! 

Coif, a headdress. 

Coil, noise, bustle. 

Comprehend, to apprehend. 

Compter, a name formerly giver) 
to debtor prisons in London. 

Corinthian, a debauched man. 

Costard, the head. 

Cote, to pass, to overtake. 

Cricket, a four-legged stool. 

Cuerpo (Spanish), the body. 
“In cuerpo,” naked. 

Culiss, broth of boiled meat 
strained. 

Culverin, an ancient small can- 
non. 

Cutter, a bully, a sharper. 

Cymar, a light covering, a 
scarf. 

Deboshed, debauched. 

Diablotin, a little devil, a mis- 
chievous young imp. 

Digit, a finger. 

Drap-de-bure, a coarse dark 
stuff. 

“ Drench, and a ball,” physic 
draught and a pill. 

E’en, even. 

Electuary, a kind of medicine. 

Excalibur, the famous sword of 
King Arthur. 

Flight-shot, a bowshot. 

“ Followers of Minerva,” those 


GLOSSARY. 


318 

who have address and intelli- 
gence. 

Forked, pointed. 

Founders, a disease of horses. 

Fox, an old slang term for the 
broadsword. 

Furmity, hulled wheat boiled in 
milk and seasoned. 

Fusille, an elongated lozenge, a 
term in heraldry. 

Galliard, gay, jaunty. 

Gaze-hound, a greyhound. 

Gear, affair, thing. 

Genethliacally, by calculating 
nativities. 

Gie, give. 

Gien, given. 

Gogsnouns, God’s wounds ! 

Good-jere, an expletive = what 
the plague ! what the mischief ! 

Gramercy, many thanks, much 
obliged. 

Groat, a silver coin worth 4 d. 

Guess, sort. 

Gules, a term in heraldry for red. 

Ha’, have. 

Harrowtry, heraldry. 

Harry-noble, a noble coined in 
the reign of Henry VIII. 

Head-borough, the head of a 
borough, a petty constable. 

Hose, breeches. 

Ingle, a favourite, a friend. 

Ivy-tod, ivy-bush. 

Jack, a metal pitcher, black-jack. 

“ Jack Pudding,” a buffoon, a 
merry-andrew. 

Jape, jest. 

Jere. See good-jere. 

Jolterhead, stupid head. 

Judicial, foretelling human af- 
fairs. 

** Ka me, ka thee,” an old prov- 
erb = Help me, and I ’ll help 
you. 

Kernes, light-armed foot-sol- 
diers. 


I Lachrymse, red Italian wine. 

I Leech, a physician. 

Leman, a mistress. 

Limber, easily bent, pliant. 

Linsey-wolsey, cloth made of 
linen and wool. 

List, to wish, to choose. 

Lyme-hound, a sporting dog ; a 
limmer. 

Malapert, impertinent. 

Mandragorn, mandrake, a plant 
believed to possess magic qual- 
ities. 

“ Manna of Saint Nicholas,” a 
colourless and tasteless poison 

Matamoros, empty boasters. 

Maugre, despite. 

Mavis, the thrush. 

Mazed, amazed. 

Mew, to shut up. 

Mon, man. 

Moppet, a pretty young girl. 

Murrey, mulberry-coloured. 

Muscadine, a rich sweet wine. 

Neat, an ox, a cow. 

Noble, a gold coin = 6s. 8c?. 

Nooning, rest and repast at noon. 

O’, on. 

Odds, God’s. 

Ordinary, an eating-house. 

Palabras, talk, palaver. 

Pantiles, curved tiles used for 
roofing. 

Pantoufle, a slipper. 

Passant, walking — a term in 
heraldry. 

Pass-devant, a fashionable dress, 
a dress worn at dances. 

Patonee, heraldic cross with the 
limbs terminating in three 
points. 

Piccadilloe, a sort of stiff col- 
lar. 

Pize, a term of mild execration. 

Poking-awl, a pin for attaching 
the ruff, sometimes used as 
a stiletto. 

Portmantle, a portmanteau. 


Glossary. 


310 


Pottle-pot, a vessel holding two 
quarts. 

Princox, a coxcomb. 

Probation, trial. 

Proper, its natural colour — a 
term in heraldry. 

Quacksalver, a quack. 

Ratsbane, poison for rats. 

Rose-noble, a gold coin worth 
15s. 

Ruffle, to riot, to create a dis- 
turbance. 

Ruffler, a bully, a ruffian. 

Sarsenet, thin woven silk. 

Savin, the poisonous juniper. 

Seiant, sitting down — a term in 
heraldry. 

Sewer, head butler. 

Sheres = Jeres, a town in Spain 
famous for its wine. 

Shog, to move on. 

Shovel-board, a game of push- 
ing pieces of money on a board. 

Skene, a short sword, a knife. 

Slaver, saliva. 

Sleuth-hound, a bloodhound. 

Slop, an outer or lower gar- 
ment. 

Spitchcock’d, split and broiled. 

Swarf, faint. 

Swashing, noisy, bullying. 

m affeta, silk stuff. 

Tit, a horse. 

Tod, a bush, thick scrub. 

Topping, first-rate. 


Touched, speak of. 

Trencher, a wooden platter. 

Troth, truth. 

Trunk-hose, large breeches 
reaching to the knee. 

Truss, to tie the tagged laces 
which fastened the breeches 
to the doublet. 

Tyke, a dog. 

Uds, God’s. 

Un, he, him, one. 

Un’s, his. 

Untimeously, untimely. 

Virginal, an old-fashioned piano. 

Waistcoat, once a part of female 
attire. 

Wench, a young woman, a hand- 
maid. 

“ White boy,” a term of endear- 
ment. 

“ White witch,” a wizard or 
witch of beneficent disposition. 

Wi’, with. 

“ Wise woman,” a midwife. 

“ Witch’s mark,” a wart or 
mark, insensible to pain, in- 
flicted by the devil on his vas- 
sals. 

Won’d, dwelt. 

Word, name. 

Worship, honour. 

Wot, to know. 

Wus, know. 

Wyvern, a dragon-headed he- 
raldic monster. 


END OF VOL. I. 


Y> . 




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KENILWORTH. 


CHAPTER L 

— ‘ =* The moment comes — 

It is already come — when thou must write 
The absolute total of thy life’s vast sum. 

The constellations stand victorious o’er thee, 

The planets shoot good fortune in fair junctions, 

And tell thee, “ Now’s the time.” 

Schiller’s Wallenstein, by Coleridge. 

When Leicester returned to his lodging, after a 
day so important and so harassing, in which, after 
riding out more than one gale, and touching on more 
than one shoal, his bark had finally gained the har- 
bour with banner displayed, he seemed to expe- 
rience as much fatigue as a mariner after a perilous 
storm. He spoke not a word while his chamberlain 
exchanged his rich court-mantle for a furred night- 
robe, and when this officer signified that Master 
Varney desired to speak with his lordship, he 
replied only by a sullen nod. Varney, however, 
entered, accepting this signal as a permission, and 
the chamberlain withdrew. 

The Earl remained silent and almost motionless 
in his chair, his head reclined on his hand, and his 
elbow resting on the table which stood beside him, 
without seeming to he conscious of the entrance, or 
of the presence, of his confidant. Varney waited 
for some minutes until he should speak, desirous to 


2 


KENILWORTH. 


know what was the finally predominant mood of a 
mind, through which so many powerful emotions 
had that day taken their course. But he waited in 
vain, for Leicester continued still silent, and the con- 
fidant saw himself under the necessity of being the 
first to speak. “ May I congratulate your lordship,” 
he said, “ on the deserved superiority you have this 
day attained over your most formidable rival ? ” 

Leicester raised his head, and answered sadly, 
but without anger, “ Thou, Varney, whose ready 
invention has involved me in a web of most mean 
and perilous falsehood, knowest best what small 
reason there is for gratulation on the subject.” 

“Do you blame me, my lord,” said Varney, “ for 
not betraying, on the first push, the secret on which 
your fortunes depended, and which you have so oft 
and so earnestly recommended to my safe keeping ? 
Your lordship was present in person, and might 
have contradicted me and ruined yourself by an 
avowal of the truth ; but surely it was no part of 
a faithful servant to have done? : *so without your 
commands.” 

“I cannot deny it, Varney,” said the Earl, rising 
and walking across the room ; “ my own ambition 
has been traitor to my love.” 

“ Say, rather, my lord, that your love has been 
traitor to your greatness, and barred you from such 
a prospect of honour and power as the world can- 
not offer to any other. To make my honoured lady 
a countess, you have missed the chance of being 
yourself ” 

He paused, and seemed unwilling to complete 
the sentence. 

“ Of being myself what ? ” demanded Leicester ; 
“ speak out thy meaning, Varney” 


KENILWORTH. 


3 


" Of being yourself a KING, my lord,” replied 
Varney ; “ and King of England to boot ! — It is 
no treason to our Queen to say so. It would have 
chanced by her obtaining that which all true subjects 
wish her — a lusty, noble, and gallant husband.” 

“ Thou ravest, Varney,” answered Leicester. “ Be- 
sides, our times have seen enough to make men 
loathe the Crown Matrimonial which men take from 
their wives’ lap. There was Darnley of Scotland.” 

"He!” said Varney; "a gull, a fool, a thrice 
sodden ass, who suffered himself to be fired off into 
the air like a rocket on a rejoicing day. Had Mary 
had the hap to have wedded the noble Earl once 
destined to share her throne, she had experienced 
a husband of different metal ; and her husband had 
found in her a wife as complying and loving as the 
mate of the meanest squire, who follows the hounds 
a-horseback, and holds her husband’s bridle as he 
mounts.” 

"It might have been as thou sayst, Varney,” said 
Leicester, a brDf smile of self-satisfaction passing 
over his anxio. , countenance. " Henry Darnley 
knew little of women — with Mary, a man who 
knew her sex might have had some chance of hold- 
ing his own. But not with Elizabeth, Varney — for I 
think God, when he gave her the heart of a woman, 
gave her the head of a man to control its follies. — 
No, I know her. — She will accept love-tokens, ay, 
and requite them with the like — put sugared son- 
nets in her bosom — ay, and answer them too — 
push gallantry to the very verge where it becomes 
exchange of affection — but she writes nil ultra to 
all which is to follow, and would not barter one iota 
of her own supreme power for all the alphabet of 
both Cupid and Hymen.” 


4 


KENILWORTH. 


" The better for you, my lord,” said Varney, 
“ that is, in the case supposed, if such be her dis- 
position; since you think you cannot aspire to 
become her husband. Her favourite you are, and 
may remain, if the lady at Cumnor-Place continues 
in her present obscurity.” 

“ Poor Amy ! ” said Leicester, with a deep sigh ; 
“ she desires so earnestly to be acknowledged in 
presence of God and man ! ” 

“Ay, but, my lord,” said Varney, “is her desire 
reasonable ? — that is the question. — Her religious 
scruples are solved — she is an honoured and beloved 
wife — enjoying the society of her husband at such 
times as his weightier duties permit him to afford 
her his company — What would she more ? I am 
right sure that a lady so gentle and so loving would 
consent to live her life through in a certain obscu- 
rity — which is, after all, not dimmer than when she 
was at Lidcote Hall — rather than diminish the least 
jot of her lord’s honours and greatness by a prema- 
ture attempt to share them.” 

“There is something in what thou say’st,” said 
Leicester; “and her appearance here were fatal — 
yet she must be seen at Kenilworth ; Elizabeth will 
not forget that she has so appointed.” 

“Let me sleep on that hard point,” 'said Varney; 
“I cannot else perfect the device I have on the 
stithy, which I trust will satisfy the Queen and 
please my honoured lady, yet leave this fatal secret 
where it is now buried. — Has your lordship further 
commands for the night ? ” 

“ I would be alone,” said Leicester. “ Leave me, 
and place my steel casket on the table. — Be within 
summons.” 

Varney retired — and the Earl, opening the win« 


KENILWORTH. 


S 


dow of his apartment, looked out long and anxiously 
upon the brilliant host of stars which glimmered in 
the splendour of a summer firmament. The words 
burst from him as at unawares — “I had never more 
need that the heavenly bodies should befriend me, 
for my earthly path is darkened and confused.” 

It is well known that the age reposed a deep con- 
fidence in the vain predictions of judicial astrology, 
and Leicester, though exempt from the general con- 
trol of superstition, was not in this respect superior 
to his time ; but, on the contrary, was remarkable 
for the encouragement which he gave to the pro- 
fessors of this pretended science. Indeed, the wish 
to pry into futurity, so general among the human 
race, is peculiarly to be found amongst those who 
trade in state mysteries, and the dangerous intrigues 
and cabals of courts. With heedful precaution to 
see that it had not been opened, or its locks tam- 
pered with, Leicester applied a key to the steel 
casket, and drew from it, first, a parcel of gold pieces, 
which he put into a silk purse ; then a parchment 
inscribed with planetary signs, and the lines and 
calculations used in framing horoscopes, on which 
he gazed intently for a few moments ; and, lastly, 
took forth a large key, which, lifting aside the 
tapestry, he applied to a little concealed door in the 
corner of the apartment, and, opening it, disclosed 
a stair constructed in the thickness of the wall. 

“Alasco,” said the Earl, with a voice raised, yet 
no higher raised than to be heard by the inhabitant 
of the small turret to which the stair conducted — 
“ Alasco, I say, descend.” 

“ I come, my lord,” answered a voice from above. 
The foot of an aged man was heard, slowly descend- 
ing the narrow stair, and Alasco entered the Earl’s 


6 


KENILWORTH. 


apartment. The astrologer was a little man, and 
seemed much advanced in age, for his beard was 
long and white, and reached over his black doublet 
down to his silken girdle. His hair was of the same 
venerable hue. But his eyebrows were as dark as 
the keen and piercing black eyes which they shaded, 
and this peculiarity gave a wild and singular cast 
to the physiognomy of the old man. His cheek was 
still fresh and ruddy, and the eyes, we have men- 
tioned, resembled those of a rat, in acuteness, and 
even fierceness of expression. His manner was not 
without a sort of dignity ; and the interpreter of 
the stars, though respectful, seemed altogether at 
his ease, and even assumed a tone of instruction and 
command, in conversing with the prime favourite of 
Elizabeth. 

“ Your prognostications have failed, Alasco,” 
said the Earl, when they had exchanged salutations 
— “ He is recovering.” 

“ My son,” replied the astrologer, “ let me remind 
you, I warranted not his death — nor is there any 
prognostication that can be derived from the heav- 
enly bodies, their aspects and their conjunctions, 
which is not liable to be controlled by the will of 
Heaven. Astra regunt homines , sed regit astra Dens'* 

“ Of what avail, then, is your mystery ? ” enquired 
the Earl. 

“Of much, my son,” replied the old man, “ since 
it can show the natural and probable course of events, 
although that course moves in subordination to an 
Higher Power. Thus, in reviewing the horoscope 
which your lordship subjected to my skill, you will 
observe that Saturn, being in the sixth House in op- 
position to Mars, retrograde in the House of Life, 
cannot but denote long and dangerous sickness, the 


KENILWORTH. 


7 


issue whereof is in the will of Heaven, though death 
may probably be inferred.— Yet, if I knew the name 
of the party, I would erect another scheme.” 

“His name is a secret,” said the Earl; “yet, I 
must own, thy prognostication hath not been un- 
faithful. He has been sick, and dangerously so, 
not however to death. But hast thou again cast 
my horoscope as Varney directed thee, and art thou 
prepared to say what the stars tell of my present 
fortune ? ” 

“ My art stands at your command,” said the old 
man; “and here, my son, is the map of thy for- 
tunes, brilliant in aspect as ever beamed from those 
blessed signs whereby our life is influenced, yet not 
unchequered with fears, difficulties, and dangers.” 

“My lot were more than mortal were it other- 
wise,” said the Earl ; “ proceed, father, and believe 
you speak with one ready to undergo his destiny 
in action and in passion, as may beseem a noble of * 
England.” 

“ Thy courage to do and to suffer, must be wound 
up yet a strain higher,” said the old man. “ The 
stars intimate yet a prouder title, yet an higher 
rank. It is for thee to guess their meaning, not for 
me to name it.” 

“ Name it, I conjure you — name it, I command 
you,” said the Earl, his eyes brightening as he spoke, 

“ I may not, and I will not,” replied the old man. 

“ The ire of princes is as the wrath of the lion. But 
mark, and judge for thyself. Here Venus, ascend- 
ant in the House of Life, and conjoined with Sol, 
showers down that flood of silver light, blent with 
gold, which promises power, wealth, dignity, all that 
the proud heart of man desires, and in such abun- 
dance, that never the future Augustus of that old 


8 


KENILWORTH. 


and mighty Rome heard from his Haruspices such 
a tale of glory, as from this rich text my lore might 
read to my favourite son.” 

“Thou dost but jest with me, father,” said the 
Earl, astonished at the strain of enthusiasm in 
which the astrologer delivered his prediction. 

“ Is it for him to jest who hath his eye on heaven, 
who hath his foot in the grave ? ” returned the old 
man, solemnly. 

The Earl made two or three strides through the 
apartment, with his hand outstretched, as one who 
follows the beckoning signal of some phantom, waving 
him on to deeds of high import. As he turned, how- 
ever, he caught the eye of the astrologer fixed on 
him, while an observing glance of the most shrewd 
penetration shot from under the penthouse of h;s 
shaggy dark eyebrows. Leicester’s haughty and sus- 
picious soul at once caught fire ; he darted towards 
the old man from the further end of the lofty apart- 
ment, only standing still when his extended hand 
was within a foot of the astrologer’s body. 

“ Wretch ! ” he said, “ if you dare to palter with me, 
I will have your skin stripped from your living flesh ! 
— Confess thou hast been hired to deceive and to 
betray me — that thou art a cheat, and I thy silly 
prey and booty ! ” 

The old man exhibited some symptoms of emotion, 
but not more than the furious deportment of his pa- 
tron might have extorted from innocence itself. 

“ What means this violence, my lord ? ” he an- 
swered, “ or in what can I have deserved it at your 
hand?” 

“ Give me proof,” said the Earl, vehemently, “ that 
you have not tampered with mine enemies.” 

“ My lord,” replied the old man, with dignity, “ you 


KENILWORTH. 


9 

can have no better proof than that which you your- 
self elected. In that turret I have spent the last 
twenty-four hours, under the key which has been in 
your own custody. The hours of darkness I have 
spent in gazing on the heavenly bodies with these 
dim eyes, and during those of light I have toiled 
this aged brain to complete the calculation arising 
from their combinations. Earthly food I have not 
tasted — earthly voice I have not heard — You are 
yourself aware I had no means of doing so — and 
yet I tell you — I who have been thus shut up in 
solitude and study — that within these twenty -four 
hours your star has become predominant in the hori- 
zon, and either the bright book of heaven speaks 
false, or there must have been a proportionate revo- 
lution in your fortunes upon earth. If nothing has 
happened within that space to secure your power, or 
advance your favour, then am I indeed a cheat, and 
the divine art, which was first devised in the plains 
of Chaldea, is a foul imposture.” 

“ It is true,” said Leicester, after a moment’s 
reflection, “ thou wert closely immured — and it 
is also true that the change has taken place 
in my situation which thou say’st the horoscope 
indicates.” 

“ Wherefore this distrust, then, my son ? ” said the 
astrologer, assuming a tone of admonition ; “ the 
celestial intelligences brook not diffidence, even in 
their favourites.” 

“ Peace, father,” answered Leicester, “ I have erred 
in doubting thee. Not to mortal man, nor to celes- 
tial intelligence — under that which is supreme — • 
will Dudley’s lips say more in condescension or apol- 
ogy. Speak rather to the present purpose — Amid 
these bright promises, thou hast said there was a 


IO 


KENILWORTH. 


threatening aspect — Can thy skill tell whence, or 
by whose means, such danger seems to impend ? ” 

“ Thus far only,” answered the astrologer, “ does 
my art enable me to answer your query. The in- 
fortune is threatened by the malignant and adverse 
aspect, through means of a youth, — and, as I think, 
a rival ; but whether in love or in prince’s favour, 
I know not ; nor can I give farther indication re- 
specting him, save that he comes from the western 
quarter.” 

“ The western — ha ! ” replied Leicester, “ it is 
enough — the tempest does indeed brew in that 
quarter ! — Cornwall and Devon — Raleigh and 
Tressilian — one of them is indicated — I must be- 
ware of both. — Father, if I have done thy skill in- 
justice, I will make thee a lordly recompense.” 

He took a purse of gold from the strong casket 
which stood before him. “ Have thou double the 
recompense which Varney promised. — Be faithful 
— be secret — obey the directions thou shalt receive 
from my master of the horse, and grudge not a little 
seclusion or restraint in my cause — it shall be richly 
considered. — Here, Varney — conduct this vener- 
able man to thine own lodging — tend him heedfully 
in all things, but see that he holds communication 
with no one ” 

Varney bowed, and the astrologer kissed the Earl’s 
hand in token of adieu, and followed the master of 
the horse to another apartment, in which were placed 
wine and refreshments for his use. 

The astrologer sat down to his repast, while Var- 
ney shut two doors with great precaution, examined 
the tapestry, lest any listener lurked behind it; and 
then sitting down opposite to the sage, began to 
question him. 


KENILWORTH. 


ii 


“ Saw you my signal from the court beneath ? ” 

“I did,” said Alasco, for by such name he was 
at present called, “ and shaped the horoscope 
accordingly.” 

“ And it passed upon the patron without chal- 
lenge ? ” continued Varney. 

“ Not without challenge,” replied the old man, 
“but it did pass; and I added, as before agreed, dan- 
ger from a discovered secret, and a western youth.” 

“ My lord’s fear will stand sponsor to the one, and 
his conscience to the other, of these prognostica- 
tions,” replied Varney. “Sure never man chose to 
run such a race as his, yet continued to retain those 
silly scruples ! I am fain to cheat him to his own 
profit. But touching your matters, sage interpreter 
of the stars, I can tell you more of your own fortune 
than plan or figure can show. You must be gone 
from hence forthwith.” 

“ I will not,” said Alasco, peevishly. “ I have 
been too much hurried up and down of late — 
immured for day and night in a desolate turret- 
chamber — I must enjoy my liberty, and pursue 
my studies, which are of more import than the 
fate of fifty statesmen, and favourites, that rise and 
burst like bubbles in the atmosphere of a court.” 

“ At your pleasure,” said Varney, with a sneer 
which habit had rendered familiar to his features, and 
which forms the principal characteristic that painters 
have assigned to those of Satan — “ At your pleasure,” 
he said; “you may enjoy your liberty, and your 
studies, until the daggers of Sussex’s followers are 
clashing within your doublet, and against your ribs.” 
The old man turned pale, and Varney proceeded 
“ Wot you not he hath offered a reward for the arch- 
quack and poison-vender, Demetrius, who sold cer- 


12 


KENILWORTH. 


tain precious spices to his lordship’s cook ? — What ! 
turn you pale, old friend ? Does Hali already see an 
infortune in the House of Life ? — Why, hark thee, 
we will have thee down to an old house of mine in 
the country, where thou shalt live with a hobnailed 
slave, whom thy alchymy may convert into ducats, 
for to such conversion alone is thy art serviceable.” 

“ It is false, thou foul-mouthed railer,” said Alasco, 
shaking with impotent anger; “it is well known 
that I have approached more nearly to projection 
than any hermetic artist who now lives. There are 
not six chemists in the world who possess so near 
an approximation to the grand arcanum ” 

“Come, come,” said Varney, interrupting him, 
“ what means this, in the name of Heaven ? Do we 
not know one another ? I believe thee to be so per- 
fect — so very perfect, in the mystery of cheating, 
that, having imposed upon all mankind, thou hast 
at length, in some measure, imposed upon thyself ; 
and without ceasing to dupe others, hast become a 
species of dupe to thine own imagination. Blush 
not for it, man — thou art learned, and shalt have 
classical comfort : 

‘ Ne quisquam Ajacem possit superare nisi Ajax.' 

No one but thyself could have gulled thee — and 
thou hast gulled the whole brotherhood of the Rosy 
Cross beside — none so deep in the mystery as thou. 
But hark thee in thine ear ; had the seasoning which 
spiced Sussex’s broth wrought more surely, I would 
have thought better of the chemical science thou 
dost boast so highly.” 

“Thou art an hardened villain, Varney,” replied 
Alasco ; “ many will do those things, who dare not 
speak of them.” 


KENILWORTH. 


13 


“ And many speak of them who dare not do them,” 
answered Varney ; “but be not wroth — I will not 
quarrel with thee — If I did, I were fain to live on 
eggs for a month, that I might feed without fear. 
Tell me at once, how came thine art to fail thee at 
this great emergency ? ” 

“The Earl of Sussex’s horoscope intimates,” re*- 
plied the astrologer, “ that the sign of the ascendant 
being in combustion ” 

“ Away with your gibberish,” replied Varney ; 
“ think’st thou it is the patron thou speak’st with ? ” 

“ I crave your pardon,” replied the old man, “ and 
swear to you, I know but one medicine that could 
have saved the Earl’s life ; and as no man living in 
England knows that antidote save myself, — more- 
over, as the ingredients, one of them in particular, 
are scarce possible to be come by, I must needs sup- 
pose his escape was owing to such a constitution of 
lungs and vital parts, as was never before bound up 
in a body of clay.” 

“There was some talk of a quack who waited on 
him,” said Varney, after a moment’s reflection. “ Are 
you sure there is no one in England who has this 
secret of thine ? ” 

“ One man there was,” said the doctor, “ once my 
servant, who might have stolen this of me, with 
one or two other secrets of art. But content you, 
Master Varney, it is no part of my policy to suffer 
such interlopers to interfere in my trade. He pries 
into no mysteries more, I warrant you; for, as I 
well believe, he hath been wafted to heaven on the 
wing of a fiery dragon — Peace be with him ! — But 
in this retreat of mine, shall I have the use of mine 
elaboratory ? ” 

“Of a whole workshop, man,” said Varney; “for 


14 


KENILWORTH. 


a reverend father Abbot, who was fain to give place 
to bluff King Hal, and some of his courtiers, a score 
of years since, had a chemist’s complete apparatus, 
which he was obliged to leave behind him to his 
successors. Thou shalt there occupy, and melt, 
and puff, and blaze, and multiply, until the Green 
Dragon become a golden-goose, or whatever the 
newer phrase of the brotherhood may testify.” 

“Thou art right, Master Varney,” said the al- 
chymist, setting his teeth close, and grinding them 
together — “ thou art right, even in thy very con- 
tempt of right and reason. For what thou say’st in 
mockery, may in sober verity chance to happen ere 
we meet again. If the most venerable sages of 
ancient days have spoken the truth — if the most 
learned of our own have rightly received it — if I 
have been accepted wherever I travelled, in Ger- 
many, in Poland, in Italy, and in the farther Tartary, 
as one to whom nature has unveiled her darkest 
secrets — if I have acquired the most secret signs 
and passwords of the Jewish Cabala, so that the 
greyest beard in the synagogue would brush the 
steps to make them clean for me — if all this is so, 
and if there remains but one step — one little step 

— betwixt my long, deep, and dark, and subter- 
ranean progress, and that blaze of light which shall 
show Nature watching her richest and her most 
glorious productions in the very cradle — one step 
betwixt dependence and the power of sovereignty 

— one step betwixt poverty and such a sum of 
wealth as earth, without that noble secret, cannot 
minister from all her mines in the old or the new-found 
world — if this be all so, is it not reasonable that to 
this I dedicate my future life, secure, for a brief 
period of studious patience, to rise above the mean 


KENILWORTH. 15 

dependence upon favourites, and their favourites, by 
which I am now enthralled ? ” 

“Now, bravo ! bravo ! my good father, 1 ” said Var- 
ney, with the usual sardonic expression of ridicule 
on his countenance ; “ yet all this approximation to 
the philosopher’s stone wringeth not one single crown 
out of my Lord Leicester’s pouch, and far less out of 
Richard Varney’s — We must have earthly and sub- 
stantial services, man, and care not whom else thou 
canst delude with thy pliilosophica, charlatanry.” 

“My son Varney,” said the alchymist, “the un- 
belief, gathered around thee like a frost-fog, hath 
dimmed thine acute perception to that which is a 
stumbling-block to the wise, and which yet, to him 
who seeketh knowledge with humility, extends a 
lesson so clear, that he who runs may read. Hath 
not Art, think’st thou, the means of completing 
Nature’s imperfect concoctions in her attempts to 
form the precious metals, even as by art we can 
perfect those other operations, of incubation, distil- 
lation, fermentation, and similar processes of an 
ordinary description, by which we. extract life itself 
out of a senseless egg, summon purity and vitality 
out of muddy dregs, or call into vivacity the inert 
substance of a sluggish liquid ? ” 

“ I have heard all this before,” said Varney, “and 
my heart is proof against such cant ever since I sent 
twenty good gold pieces, (marry, it was in the non- 
age of my wit,) to advance the grand magisterium, 
all which, God help the while, vanished in fumo . 
Since that moment, when I paid for my freedom, 
I defy chemistry, astrology, palmistry, and every 
other occult art, were it as secret as hell itself, to 
unloose the stricture of my purse-strings. Marry, 
I neither defy the manna of Saint Nicholas, nor can 


i6 


KENILWORTH. 


I dispense with it. Thy first task must be to pre- 
pare some when thou get’st down to my little se- 
questered retreat yonder, and then make as much 
gold as thou wilt.” 

“ I will make no more of that dose,” said the 
alchymist, resolutely. 

“ Then,” said the master of the horse, “ thou 
shalt be hanged for what thou hast made already, 
and so were the great secret for ever lost to man- 
kind. — Do not humanity this injustice, good father, 
hut e’en bend to thy destiny, and make us an ounce 
or two of this same stuff, which cannot prejudice 
above one or two individuals, in order to gain life- 
time to discover the universal medicine, which shall 
clear away all mortal diseases at once. But cheer 
up, thou grave, learned, and most melancholy jack- 
anapes ! Hast thou not told me, that a moderate 
portion of thy drug hath mild effects, no ways ulti- 
mately dangerous to the human frame, but which 
produces depression of spirits, nausea, headache, an 
unwillingness to change of place — even such a state 
of temper as would keep a bird from flying out of 
a cage, were the door left open ? ” 

“ I have said so, and it is true,” said the alchy- 
mist ; “ this effect will it. produce, and the bird who 
partakes of it in such proportion, shall sit for a sea- 
son drooping on her perch, without thinking either 
of the free blue sky, or of the fair greenwood, though 
the one be lighted by the rays of the rising sun, and 
the other ringing with the newly awakened song of 
all the feathered inhabitants of the forest.” 

“ And this without danger to life ? ” said Varney, 
somewhat anxiously. 

“ Ay, so that proportion and measure be not ex- 
ceeded ; and so that one who knows the nature of 


KENILWORTH. 


17 


the manna be ever near to watch the symptoms, 
and succour in case of need.” 

“ Thou shalt regulate the whole,” said Varney ; 
“ thy reward shall be princely, if thou keep’st time 
and touch, and exceedest not the due proportion, to 
the prejudice of her health — otherwise thy punish- 
ment shall be as signal.” 

“ The prejudice of her health ! ” repeated Alasco ; 
“ it is, then, a woman I am to use my skill upon ? ” 

“No, thou fool,” replied Varney; “said I not it 
was a bird — a reclaimed linnet, whose pipe might 
soothe a hawk when in mid stoop ? — I see thine eye 
sparkle, and I know thy beard is not altogether so 
white as art has made it — that, at least, thou hast 
been able to transmute to silver. But mark me, 
this is no mate for thee. This caged bird is dear to 
one who brooks no rivalry, and far less such rivalry 
as thine, and her health must over all things be 
cared for. But she is in the case of being com- 
manded down to yonder Kenilworth revels ; and it 
is most expedient — most needful — most neces- 
sary, that she fly not thither. Of these necessities 
and their causes, it is not needful that she should 
know aught, and it is to be thought that her own 
wish may lead her to combat all ordinary reasons 
which can be urged for her remaining a house- 
keeper.” 

“ That is but natural,” said the alchymist, with 
a strange smile, which yet bore a greater reference 
to the human character, than the uninterested and 
abstracted gaze which his physiognomy had hitherto 
expressed, where all seemed to refer to some world 
distant from that which was existing around him. 

“It is so,” answered Varney; “you understand 
women well, though it may have been long since 


i8 


KENILWORTH. 


you were conversant amongst them. — Well, then, 
she is not to be contradicted — yet she is not to he 
humoured. Understand me — a slight illness, suf- 
ficient to take away the desire of removing from 
thence, and to make such of your wise fraternity as 
may be called in to aid, recommend a quiet residence 
at home, will, in one word, be esteemed good service, 
and remunerated as such.” 

“ I am not to be asked to affect the House of 
Life ? ” said the chemist. 

“On the contrary, we will have thee hanged if 
thou dost,” replied Varney. 

“ And I must,” added Alasco, “ have opportunity 
to do my turn, and all facilities for concealment or 
escape, should there be detection ? ” 

“ All, all, and every thing, thou infidel in all but 
the impossibilities of alchymy — Why, man, for 
what dost thou take me ? ” 

The old man rose, and taking a light, walked 
towards the end of the apartment, where was a door 
that led to the small sleeping room destined for his 
reception during the night. — At the door he turned 
round, and slowly repeated Varney’s question ere 
he answered it. “ For what do I take thee, Richard 
Varney ? — Why, for a worse devil than I have been 
myself. But I am in your toils, and I must serve 
you till my term be out.” 

“ Well, well,” answered Varney, hastily, “ be stir- 
ring with grey light. It may be we shall not need 
thy medicine — Do nought till I myself come down 
— Michael Lambourne shall guide you to the place 
of your destination.” 1 

When Varney heard the adept’s door shut and 
carefully bolted within, he stepped towards it, and 
1 Note I — Hr. Julio. 


KENILWORTH. 


>9 


with similar precaution carefully locked it on the 
outside, and took the key from the lock, muttering 
to himself, “Worse than thee, thou poisoning quack- 
salver and witch-monger, who, if thou art not a 
bounden slave to the devil, it is only because he 
disdains such an apprentice ! I am a mortal man, 
and seek by mortal means the gratification of my 
passions, and advancement of my prospects — Thou 
art a vassal of hell itself. — So ho, Lambourne ! ” he 
called at another door, and Michael made his ap- 
pearance, with a flushed cheek and an unsteady 
step. 

“Thou art drunk, thou villain!” said Varney to 
him. 

“ Doubtless, noble sir,” replied the unabashed 
Michael, “ we have been drinking all even to the 
glories of the day, and to my noble Lord of Leices- 
ter, and his valiant master of the horse. — Drunk ! 
odds blades and poniards, he that would refuse to 
swallow a dozen healths on such an evening, is a 
base besognio, and a puckfoist, and shall swallow 
six inches of my dagger ! ” 

“Hark ye, scoundrel,” said Varney, “be sober on 
the instant — I command thee. I know thou canst 
throw off thy drunken folly, like a fool’s coat, at 
pleasure ; and if not, it were the worse for thee.” 

Lambourne drooped his head, left the apartment, 
and returned in two or three minutes with his face 
composed, his hair adjusted, his dress in order, and 
exhibiting as great a difference from his former self 
as if the whole man had been changed. 

“ Art thou sober now, and dost thou comprehend 
me?” said Varney, sternly. 

Lambourne bowed in acquiescence. 

“Thou must presently down to Cumnor-Place 


20 


KENILWORTH. 


with the reverend man of art, who sleeps yonder in 
the little vaulted chamber. Here is the key, that 
thou mayst call him betimes. Take another trusty 
fellow with you. Use him well on the journey, but 
let him not escape you — pistol him if he attempt 
it, and I will be your warrant. I will give thee let- 
ters to Foster. The doctor is to occupy the lower 
apartments of the eastern quadrangle, with freedom 
to use the old elaboratory and its implements. — He 
is to have no access to the lady but such as I shall 
point out — only she may be amused to see his phil- 
osophical jugglery. Thou wilt await at Cumnor- 
Place my farther orders ; and, as thou livest, beware 
of the ale-bench and the aqnavitse flask. Each 
breath drawn in Cumnor-Place must be kept severed 
from common air.” 

“ Enough, my lord — I mean my worshipful mas- 
ter — soon, I trust, to be my worshipful knightly 
master. You have given me my lesson and my li- 
cense ; — I will execute the one, and not abuse the 
other. I will be in the saddle by daybreak.” 

“ Do so, and deserve favour. — Stay — ere thou 
goest fill me a cup of wine — not out of that flask, 
sirrah,” — as Lambourne was pouring out from that 
which Alasco had left half finished, “ fetch me a 
fresh one.” 

Lambourne obeyed, and Varney, after rinsing his 
mouth with the liquor, drank a full cup, and said, as 
he took up a lamp to retreat to his sleeping apart- 
ment, “ It is strange — I am as little the slave of 
fancy as any one, yet I never speak for a few min- 
utes with this fellow Alasco, but my mouth and 
lungs feel as if soiled with the fumes of calcined 
arsenic — pah ! ” 

So saying, he left the apartment. Lambourne 


KENILWORTH. 


at 

lingered, to drink a cup of the freshly opened flask. 
“ It is from Saint- John’ s-Berg ! ” he said, as he paused 
on the draught to enjoy its flavour, “ and has the 
true relish of the violet. But I must forbear it now, 
that I may one day drink it at my own pleasure.” 
And he quaffed a goblet of water to quench the 
fumes of the Rhenish wine, retired slowly towards 
the door, made a pause, and then, finding the temp- 
tation irresistible, walked hastily back, and took 
another long pull at the wine-flask, without the 
formality of a cup. 

" Were it not for this accursed custom,” he said, 
“I might climb as high as Varney himself. But 
who can climb when the room turns round with him 
like a parish-top ? I would the distance were greater, 
or the road rougher, betwixt my hand and mouth ! 
■ — But I will drink nothing to-morrow, save water 
— nothing save fair water.” 


CHAPTER II. 


Pistol. And tidings do I bring, and lucky joys, 
md happy news of price. 

F distaff. I prithee now, deliver them like to a man of this world 
Pistol. A foutra for the world, and worldings base ! 

I speak of Africa, and golden joys. 

Henrn IV., Part 2. 

The public room of the Black Bear at Cumnor, 
to which the scene of our story now returns, boasted, 
on the evening which we treat of, no ordinary 
assemblage of guests. There had been a fair in 
the neighbourhood, and the cutting mercer of Ab- 
ingdon, with some of the other personages whom 
the reader has already been made acquainted with, 
as friends and customers of Giles Gosling, had al- 
ready formed their wonted circle around the even- 
ing fire, and were talking over the news of the day. 

A lively, bustling, arch fellow, whose pack and 
oaken ell-wand , studded duly with brass points, de- 
noted him to be of Autolycus’s profession, occupied 
a good deal of the attention, and furnished much 
of the amusement, of the evening. The pedlars of 
those days, it must be remembered, were men of 
far greater importance than the degenerate and de- 
graded hawkers of our modern times. It was by 
means of these peripatetic venders that the country 
trade, in the finer manufactures used in female dress 
particularly, was almost entirely carried on ; and if 
a merchant of this description arrived at the dignity 
of travelling with a pack-horse, he was a person of 
no small consequence, and company for the most 


KENILWORTH. 


*3 


substantial yeoman or Franklin whom he might 
meet in his wanderings. 

The pedlar of whom we speak bore, accordingly, 
an active and unrebuked share in the merriment to 
which the rafters of the bonny Black Bear of Cum- 
nor resounded. He had his smile with pretty 
Mistress Cicely, his broad laugh with mine host, and 
his jest upon dashing Master Goldthred, who, though 
indeed without any such benevolent intention on 
his own part, was the general butt of the evening. 
The pedlar and he were closely engaged in a dispute 
upon the preference due to the Spanish nether-stock 
over the black Gascoigne hose, and mine host had 
just winked to the guests around him, as who should 
say, “ You will have mirth presently, my masters,” 
when the trampling of horses was heard in the court- 
yard, and the hostler was loudly summoned, with a 
few of the newest oaths then in vogue, to add force 
to the invocation. Out tumbled Will Hostler, John 
Tapster, and all the militia of the inn, who had 
slunk from their posts in order to collect some scat- 
tered crumbs of the mirth which was flying about 
among the customers. Out into the yard sallied 
mine host himself also, to do fitting salutation to his 
new guests ; and presently returned, ushering into 
the apartment his own worthy nephew, Michael 
Lambourne, pretty tolerably drunk, and having 
under his escort the astrologer. Alasco, though still 
a little old man, had, by altering his gown to a riding- 
dress, trimming his beard and eyebrows, and so forth, 
struck at least a score of years from his apparent 
age, and might now seem an active man of sixty, or 
little upwards. He appeared at present exceedingly 
anxious, and had insisted much with Lambourne 
that they should not enter the inn but go straight 


KENIWORTH. 


H 

forward to the place of their destination. But 
Lambourne would not be controlled. “ By Cancer 
and Capricorn,” he vociferated, “ and the whole 
heavenly host — besides all the stars that these 
blessed eyes of mine have seen sparkle in the south- 
ern heavens, to which these northern blinkers are 
hut farthing candles, I will be unkindly for no one’s 
humour — I will stay and salute my worthy uncle 
here. — Chesu ! that good blood should ever be for- 
gotten betwixt friends ! — A gallon of your best, 
uncle, and let it go round to the health of the noble 
Earl of Leicester ! — What ! Shall we not collogue 
together, and warm the cockles of our ancient kind- 
ness ? — Shall we not collogue, I say ? ” 

“With all my heart, kinsman,” said mine host, 
who obviously wished to be rid of him ; “ but are 
you to stand shot to all this good liquor ? ” 

This is a question has quelled many a jovial to 
per, but it moved not the purpose of Lambourne’s 
soul. “ Question my means, nuncle?” he said, pro- 
ducing a handful of mixed gold and silver pieces ; 
“ question Mexico and Peru — question the Queen’s 
exchequer — God save her Majesty! — She is my 
good Lord’s good mistress.” 

“Well, kinsman,” said mine host, “it is my busi- 
ness to sell wine to those who can buy it — So, Jack 
Tapster, do me thine office. — But I would I knew 
how to come by money as lightly as thou dost, 
Mike.” 

“ Why, uncle,” said Lambourne, “ I will tell thee 
a secret — Dost see this little old fellow here ? as 
old and withered a chip as ever the devil put into 
his porridge — and yet, uncle, between you and me 
— he hath potosi in that brain of his — ’Sblood I 
he can coin ducats faster than I can vent oaths." 


KENILWORTH. 


25 


“ I will have none of his coinage in my purse • 
though, Michael,” said mine host ; “ I know what 
belongs to falsifying the Queen’s coin.” 

“ Thou art an ass, uncle, for as old as thou art — 
Pull me not by the skirts, doctor, thou art an ass 
thyself to boot — so, being both asses, I tell ye I 
spoke but metaphorically.” 

“ Are you mad ? ” said the old man ; “ is the devil 
in you ? — ■ can you not let us begone without draw- 
ing all men’s eyes on us ? ” 

“Sayst thou?” said Lambourne; “Thou art de- 
ceived now — no man shall see you an I give the 
word. — By Heavens, masters, an any one dare to 
look on this old gentleman, I will slash the eyes out 
of his head with my poniard ! — So sit down, old 
friend, and be merry — these are mine ingles — mine 
ancient inmates, and will betray no man.” 

“ Had you not better withdraw to a private apart- 
ment, nephew,” said Giles Gosling; “you speak 
strange matter,” he added, “ and there be intelli- 
gencers everywhere.” 

“ I care not for them,” said the magnanimous 
Michael — “ intelligencers ? pshaw ! — I serve the 
noble Earl of Leicester — Here comes the wine — 
Fill round. Master Skinker, a carouse to the health 
of the flower of England, the noble Earl of Leicester ! 

I say, the noble Earl of Leicester ! He that does 
me not reason is a swine of Sussex, and I’ll make 
him kneel to the pledge, if I should cut his hams 
and smoke them for bacon.” 

Hone disputed a pledge given under such formi- 
dable penalties ; and Michael Lambourne, whose 
drunken humour was not of course diminished by 
this new potation, went on in the same wild way, 
renewing his acquaintance with such of the guests 


26 


KENILWORTH. 


as he had 'formerly known, and experiencing a re- 
ception in which there was now something of de- 
ference, mingled with a good deal of fear ; for the 
least servitor of the favourite Earl, especially such a 
man as Lambourne, was, for very sufficient reasons, 
an object both of the one and of the other. 

In the meanwhile, the old man, seeing his guide 
in this uncontrollable humour, ceased to remonstrate 
with him, and sitting down in the most obscure cor- 
ner of the room, called for a small measure of sack, 
over which he seemed, as it were, to slumber, with- 
drawing himself as much as possible from general 
observation, and doing nothing which could recall 
his existence to the recollection of his fellow-trav- 
eller, who by this time had got into close intimacy 
with his ancient comrade, Goldthred of Abingdon. 

“ Never believe me, bully Mike,” said the mercer, 
“ if I am not as glad to see thee as ever I was to see 
a customer’s money ! — Why, thou canst give a 
friend a sly place at a mask or a revel now, Mike ; 
ay, or, I warrant thee, thou canst say in my lord’s 
ear, when my honourable lord is down in these parts, 
and wants a Spanish ruff or the like — thou canst 
say in his ear, There is mine old friend, young 
Lawrence Goldthred of Abingdon, has as good wares, 
lawn, tiffany, cambric, and so forth — ay, and is as 
pretty a piece of man’s flesh, too, as is in Berkshire, 
and will ruffle it for your lordship with any man of 
his inches ; and thou mayst say ” 

“ I can say a hundred d — d lies besides, mercer,” 
answered Lambourne ; “ what, one must not stand 
upon a good word for a friend ! ” 

“ Here is to thee, Mike, with all my heart,” said 
the mercer: “and thou canst tell one the reality 
of the new fashions too — Here was a rogue pedlar 


KENILWORTH. 


27 


but now, was crying up the old-fashioned Spanish 
nether-stock over the Gascoigne hose, although thou 
seest how well the French hose set off the leg and 
knee, being adorned with parti-coloured garters and 
garniture in conformity.” 

“ Excellent, excellent,” replied Lambourne ; “ why, 
thy limber bit of a thigh, thrust through that bunch 
of slashed buckram and tiffany, shows like a house- 
wife’s distaff, when the flax is half spun off ! ” 

“Said I not so?” said the mercer, whose shal- 
low brain was now overflowed in his turn ; “ where 
then, where be this rascal pedlar ? — there was a 
pedlar here but now, methinks — Mine host, where 
the foul fiend is this pedlar ? ” 

“ Where wise men should be Master Goldthred,” 
replied, Giles Gosling; “even shut up in his pri- 
vate chamber, telling over the sales of to-day, apd 
preparing for the custom of to-morrow.” 

“ Hang him, a mechanical chuff ! ” said the mercer ; 
“ but for shame, it were a good deed to ease him of 
his wares, — -a set of peddling knaves, who stroll 
through the land, and hurt the established trader. 
There are good fellows in Berkshire yet, mine host — 
your pedlar may be met withal on Maiden Castle.” 

“ Ay,” replied mine host, laughing, “ and he who 
meets him may meet his match — the pedlar is a 
tall man.” 

“ Is he ? ” said Goldthred. 

“ Is he ? ” replied the host ; “ ay, by cock and 
pie is he — the very pedlar he who raddled Robin 
Hood so tightly, as the song says, 

* Now Robin Hood drew his sword so good, 

The pedlar drew his brand, 

And he hath raddled him, Robin Hood, 

Till he neither could see nor stand.’ ” 


28 


KENILWORTH. 


“ Hang him, foul scroyle, let him pass,” said the 
mercer ; “ if he be such a one, there were small 
worship to be won upon him. — And now tell me, 
Mike — my honest Mike, how wears the Hollands 
you won' of me ?” 

“ Why, well, as you may see, Master Goldthred,” 
answered Mike ; “ I will bestow a pot on thee for 
the handsel. — Fill the flagon, Master Tapster.” 

“ Thou wilt win no more Hollands, I think, on 
such wager, friend Mike,” said the mercer; “for 
the sulky swain, Tony Foster, rails at thee all to 
nought, and swears you shall ne’er darken his doors 
again, for that your oaths are enough to blow the 
roof off a Christian man’s dwelling.” 

“ Doth he say so, the mincing, hypocritical 
miser ? ” vociferated Lambourne ; — “ Why, then, 
he shall come down and receive my commands here, 
this blessed night, under my uncle’s roof ! And I 
will ring him such a black sanctus, that he shall 
think the devil hath him by the skirts for a month 
to come, for barely hearing me.” 

“ Nay, now the pottle-pot is uppermost, with a 
witness ! ” said the mercer. “ Tony Foster obey 
thy whistle ! — Alas ! good Mike, go sleep — go 
sleep.” 

“ I tell thee what, thou thin-faced gull,” said 
Michael Lambourne, in high chafe, “ I will wager 
thee fifty angels against the first five shelves of 
thy shop, numbering upward from the false light, 
with all that is on them, that I make Tony Foster 
come down to this public house, before we have 
finished three rounds.” 

“ I will lay no bet to that amount,” said the mer- 
cer, something sobered by an offer which intimated 
rather too private a knowledge, on Lambourne’s 


KENILWORTH. 


2$ 


part, of the secret recesses of his shop, “ I will lay 
no such wager,” he said ; “ but I will stake five 
angels against thy five, if thou wilt, that Tony Fos- 
ter will not leave his own roof, or come to alehouse 
after prayer time, for thee, or any man.” 

“ Content,” said Lambourne. — “ Here, uncle, 
hold stakes, and let one of your young bleed-barrels 
there — one of your infant tapsters, trip presently 
up to The Place, and give this letter to Master Fos- 
ter, and say that I, his ingle, Michael Lambourne, 
pray to speak with him at mine uncle’s castle here, 
upon business of grave import. — Away with thee, 
child, for it is now sun-down, and the wretch goeth 
to bed with the birds, to save mutton-suet — faugh ! ” 

Shortly after this messenger was dispatched — an 
interval which was spent in drinking and buffoon- 
ery — he returned with the answer, that Master 
Foster was coming presently. 

“Won, won!” said Lambourne, darting on the 
stakes. 

“ jSTot till he comes, if you please,” said the mer- 
cer, interfering. 

“Why, ’sblood, he is at the threshold,” replied 
Michael. — “ What said he, boy ? ” 

“ If it please, your worship,” answered the mes- 
senger, “ he looked out of window, with a musque- 
toon in his hand, and when I delivered your errand, 
which I did with fear and trembling, he said, with 
a vinegar aspect, that your worship might be gone 
to the infernal regions.” 

“ Or to hell, I suppose,” said Lambourne — “ it 
is there he disposes of all that are not of the 
congregation.” 

“Even so,” said the boy; “I used the other 
phrase as being the more poetical.” 


30 


KENILWORTH. 


“ An ingenious youth,” said Michael ; " shalt 

have a drop to wet thy poetical whistle — And what 
said Foster next ? ” 

“ He called me hack,” answered the boy, “ and 
hid me say, you might come to him, if you had 
aught to say to him.” 

“ And what next ? ” said Lambourne. 

“ He read the letter, and seemed in a fluster, and 
asked if your worship was in drink — and I said you 
were speaking a little Spanish, as one who had been 
in the Canaries.” 

“ Out, you diminutive pint-pot, whelped of an 
overgrown reckoning ! ” replied Lambourne — “ Out ! 
— But what said he then ? ” 

“ Why,” said the boy, “ he muttered, that if he 
came not, your worship would bolt out what were 
better kept in ; and so he took his old flat cap, and 
threadbare blue cloak, and, as I said before, he will 
be here incontinent.” 

“ There is truth in what he said,” replied Lam- 
bourne, as if speaking to himself — “ My brain has 
played me its old dog’s trick — hut corragio — let 
him approach ! — I have not rolled about in the 
world for many a day, to fear Tony Foster, be I 
drunk or sober. — Bring me a flagon of cold water, 
to christen my sack withal.” 

While Lambourne, w r hom the approach of Foster 
seemed to have recalled to a sense of his own condi- 
tion, was busied in preparing to receive him, Giles 
Gosling stole up to the apartment of the pedlar, whom 
he found traversing the room in much agitation. 

“ You withdrew yourself suddenly from the com- 
pany,” said the landlord to the guest. 

“ It was time, when the devil became one among 
you,” replied the pedlar. 


KENILWORTH. 


3i 


“ It is not courteous in you to term my nephew 
by such a name,” said Gosling, “ nor is it kindly in 
me to reply to it ; and yet, in some sort, Mike may 
be considered as a limb of Satan.” 

“ Pooh — I talk not of the swaggering ruffian,” 
replied the pedlar, “ it is of the other, who, for 
aught I know — But when go they ? or wherefore 
come they ? ” 

“ Marry, these are questions I cannot answer,” 
replied the host. “ But look you, sir, you have 
brought me a token from worthy Master Tressilian 
— a pretty stone it is.” He took out the ring, and 
looked at it, adding, as he put it into his purse 
again, that it was too rich a guerdon for any thing 
he could do for the worthy donor. He was, he said, 
in the public line, and it ill became him to be too 
inquisitive into other folk’s concerns ; he had already 
said, that he could hear nothing, but that the lady 
lived still at Cumnor Place, in the closest seclusion, 
and, to such as by chance had a view of her, seemed 
pensive and discontented with her solitude. “ But 
here,” he said, “ if you are desirous to gratify your 
master, is the rarest chance that hath occurred for 
this many a day. Tony Foster is coming down 
hither, and it is but letting Mike Lambourne smell 
another wine-flask, and the Queen’s command would 
not move him from the ale-bench. So they are 
fast for an hour or so — Now, if you will don 
your pack, which will be your best excuse, you 
may, perchance, win the ear of the old servant, being 
assured of the master’s absence, to let you try to get 
some custom of the lady, and then you may learn 
more of her condition than I or any other can tell 
you.” 

“True — very true,” answered Wayland, for he 


32 


KENILWORTH. 


it was ; “ an excellent device, but methinks some- 
thing dangerous — for, say Foster should return ? ” 

“ Very possible indeed,” replied the host. 

“ Or say,” continued Way land, “ the lady should 
render me cold thanks for my exertions ? ” 

“ As is not unlikely,” replied Giles Gosling. “ I 
marvel, Master Tressilian will take such heed of her 
that cares- not for him.” 

“ In either case I were foully sped,” said Way- 
land ; “ and therefore I do not, on the whole, much 
relish your device.” 

“ Nay, but take me with you, good master ser- 
ving-man,” replied mine host, “ this is your master’s 
business and not mine ; you best know the risk to 
be encountered, or how far you are willing to brave 
it. But that which you will not yourself hazard, 
you cannot expect others to risk.” 

“Hold, hold,” said Wayland; “tell me but one 
thing — Goes yonder old man up to Cumnor?” 

“ Surely, I think so,” said the landlord ; “ their 
servant said he was to take their baggage thither, 
but the ale-tap has been as potent for him as the 
sack-spigot has been for Michael.” 

“It is enough,” said Wayland, assuming an air 
of resolution — “I will thwart" that old villain’s 
projects — my affright at his baleful aspect begins 
to abate, and my hatred to arise. Help me on with 
my pack, good mine host — And look to thyself, old 
Albumazar — there is a malignant influence in thy 
horoscope, and it gleams from the constellation Ursa 
Major.” 

So saying, he assumed his burden, and, guided by 
the landlord through the postern-gate of the Black 
Bear, took the most private way from thence up 
to Cumnor Place. 


CHAPTER III. 


Clown. You have of these pedlars, that have more in ’em than 
you’d think, sister 


Winter's Tale , Act IV Scene 3. 


In his anxiety to obey the Earl’s repeated charges 
of secrecy, as well as from his own unsocial and 
miserly habits, Anthony Foster was more desirous, 
by his mode of housekeeping, to escape observation, 
than to resist intrusive curiosity. Thus, instead of 
a numerous household, to secure his charge, and 
defend his house, he studied, as much as possible, to 
elude notice, by diminishing his attendants ; so that, 
unless when there were followers of the Earl, or of 
Varney, in the mansion, one old male domestic, and 
two aged crones, who assisted in keeping the Coun- 
tess’s apartments in order, were the only servants 
of the family. 

It was one of these old women who opened the 
door when Wayland knocked, and answered his peti- 
tion, to be admitted to exhibit his wares to the ladies 
of the family, with a volley of vituperation, couched 
in what is there called the jowring dialect. The 
pedlar found the means of checking this vocifera- 
tion, by slipping a silver groat into her hand, and 
intimating the present of some stuff for a coif, if the 
lady would buy of his wares. 

“ God ield thee, for mine is aw in littocks — Slocket 
with thy pack into gharn, mon — Her walks in 
gharn.” Into the garden she ushered the pedlar 


34 


KENILWORTH. 


accordingly, and pointing to an old ruinous garden- 
house, said, “ Yonder he’s her, mon, — yonder he’s 
her — Zhe will buy changes an zhe loikes stuffs.” 

“ She has left me to come off as I may,” thought 
Way land, as he heard the hag shut the garden-door 
behind him. “But they shall not beat me, and 
they dare not murder me, for so little trespass, and 
by this fair twilight. Hang it, I will on — a brave 
general never thought of his retreat till he was de- 
feated. I see two females in the old garden-house 
yonder — but how to address them ? — Stay — Will 
Shakspeare, be my friend in need ! I will give them 
a taste of Autolycus.” He then sung, with a good 
voice, and becoming audacity, the popular playhouse 
ditty, — 

“ Lawn as white as driven snow, 

Cyprus black as e’er was crow, 

Gloves as sweet as damask roses, 

Masks for faces and for noses.** 

“What hath fortune sent us here for an unwonted 
sight, Janet?” said the lady. 

“One of those merchants of vanity, called ped- 
lars,” answered Janet, demurely, “who utters his 
light wares in lighter measures — I marvel old 
Dorcas let him pass.” 

“ It is a lucky chance, girl,” said the Countess ; 
:t we lead a heavy life here, and this may while off 
a weary hour.” 

“ Ay, my gracious lady,” said Janet ; “ but my 
father ? ” 

“He is not my father, Janet, nor I hope my 
master,” answered the lady — “I say, call the man 
hither — I want some things.” 

“Nay,” replied Janet, “your ladyship has but 








Kenilworth. 


3 $ 


to say so in the next packet, and if England can 
furnish them they will be sent. — There will come 
mischief on’t — Pray, dearest lady, let me bid the 
man begone ! ” 

“ I will have thee bid him come hither,” said the 
Countess ; — “ or stay, thou terrified fool, I will bid 
him myself, and spare thee a chiding.” 

“ Ah ! well-a-day, dearest lady, if that were the 
worst,” said Janet, sadly, while the lady called to 
the pedlar, “ Good fellow, step forward — undo thy 
pack — if thou hast good wares, chance has sent thee 
hither for my convenience, and thy profit.” 

“ What may your ladyship please to lack ? ” said 
Wayland, unstrapping his pack, and displaying its 
contents with as much dexterity as if he had been 
bred to the trade. Indeed he had occasionally pur- 
sued it in the course of his roving life, and now 
commended his wares with all the volubility of a 
trader, and showed some skill in the main art of 
placing prices upon them. 

“ What do I please to lack ? ” said the lady, “ why, 
considering I have not for six long months bought 
one yard of lawn or cambric, or one trinket, the 
most inconsiderable, for my own use, and at my own 
choice, the better question is, what hast thou got to 
sell ? Lay aside for me that cambric partlet and pair 
of sleeves — and those roundells of gold fringe, drawn 
out with Cyprus — and that short cloak of cherry- 
coloured fine cloth, garnished with gold buttons 
and loops. — Is it not of an absolute fancy, Janet ? ” 

“ Nay, my lady,” replied Janet, “ if you consult 
my poor judgment, it is, methinks, oyer gaudy for 
a graceful habit.” 

“ Now, out upon thy judgment, if it be no brighter, 
wench,” said the Countess ; “ thou shalt wear it 


36 


KENILWOKTH. 


thyself for penance sake ; and I promise thee the 
gold buttons, being somewhat massive, will comfort 
thy father, and reconcile him to the cherry-coloured 
body. See that he snap them not away, Janet, and 
send them to bear company with the imprisoned 
angels which he keeps captive in his strong-box.” 

“May I pray your ladyship to spare my poor 
father ! ” said Janet. 

“Nay, but why should any one spare him that 
is so sparing of his own nature ? ” replied the lady. 

— “ Well, but to our gear — That head garniture for 
myself, and that silver bodkin, mounted with pearl ; 

— and take off two gowns of that russet cloth for 
Dorcas and Alison, Janet, to keep the old wretches 
warm against winter comes — And stay, hast thou 
no perfumes and sweet bags, or any handsome cast- 
ing bottles of the newest mode ? ” 

“ Were T a pedlar in earnest, I were a made mer- 
chant,” thought Way land, as he busied himself to 
answer the demands which she thronged one on 
another, with the eagerness of a young lady who has 
been long secluded from such a pleasing occupation. 
“ But how to bring her to a moment’s serious re- 
flection ? ” Then as he exhibited his choicest collec- 
tion of essences and perfumes, he at once arrested 
her attention by observing, that these articles had 
almost risen to double value, since the magnificent 
preparations made by the Earl of Leicester to en- 
tertain the Queen and court at his princely Castle 
of Kenilworth. 

“ Ha ! ” said the Countess, hastily ; “ that rumour 
then is true, Janet.” 

“ Surely, madam,” answered Wayland ; “ and I 
marvel it hath not reached your noble ladyship’s 
ears. The Queen of England feasts with the noble 


KENILWORTH. 


37 


Earl for a week during the Summer’s Progress ; and 
there are many who will tell you England will have 
a king, and England’s Elizabeth — God save her ! — 
a husband, ere the Progress he over.” 

“ They lie like villains ! ” said the Countess, burst- 
ing forth impatiently. 

“For God’s sake, madam, consider,” said Janet, 
trembling with apprehension ; “ who would cumber 
themselves about pedlar’s tidings ? ” 

“Yes, Janet!” exclaimed the Countess; “right, 
thou hast corrected me justly. Such reports, blight- 
ing the reputation of England’s brightest and no- 
blest peer, can only find currency amongst the mean, 
the abject, and the infamous ! ” 

“ May I perish, lady,” said Way land Smith, ob- 
serving that her violence directed itself towards him, 
“if I have done any thing to merit this strange 
passion ! — I have said but what many men say.” 

By this time the Countess had recovered her com- 
posure, and endeavoured, alarmed by the anxious 
hints of Janet, to suppress all appearance of displea- 
sure. “ I were loath,” she said, “ good fellow, that 
our Queen should change the virgin style, so dear 
to us her people — think not of it.” And, then, as if 
desirous to change the subject, she added, “And 
what is this paste, so carefully put up in the silver 
box ? ” as she examined the contents of a casket 
in which drugs and perfumes were contained in 
separate drawers. 

“ It is a remedy, madam, for a disorder of which 
I trust your ladyship will never have reason to com- 
plain. The amount of a small turkey-bean, swallowed 
daily for a week, fortifies the heart against those 
black vapours which arise from solitude, melancholy, 
unrequited affection, disappointed hope.” 


38 


KENILWORTH. 


"Are you a fool, friend ? ” said the Countess, 
sharply ; “ or do you think, because I have good- 
naturedly purchased your trumpery goods at your 
roguish prices, that you may put any gullery you 
will on me ? — who ever heard that affections of the 
heart were cured by medicines given to the body ? ” 

“ Under your honourable favour,” said Wayland, 
“ I am an honest man, and I have sold my goods at 
an honest price — As to this most precious medicine, 
when I told its qualities, I asked you not to pur- 
chase it, so why should I lie to you ? I say not 
it will cure a rooted affection of the mind, which 
only God and time can do ; but I say, that this re- 
storative relieves the black vapours which are en- 
gendered in the body of that melancholy which 
broodeth on the mind. I have relieved many with 
it, both in court and city, and of late one Master 
Edmund Tressilian, a worshipful gentleman in Corn- 
wall, who, on some slight, received, it was told me, 
where he had set his affections, was brought into 
that state of melancholy which made his friends 
alarmed for his life.” 

He paused, and the lady remained silent for some 
time, and then asked, with a voice which she strove 
in vain to render firm and indifferent in its tone, 
“ Is the gentleman you have mentioned perfectly 
recovered ? ” 

“ Passably, madam,” answered Wayland ; “ he 
hath at least no bodily complain t.” 

“ I will take some of the medicine, Janet,” said 
the Countess. “ I too have sometimes that dark 
melancholy which overclouds the brain.” 

“ You shall not do so, madam,” said Janet; “ who 
shall answer that this fellow vends what is whole- 
some ? ” 


KENILWORTH. 


39 


“ I will myself warrant my good faith,” said Way- 
land ; and, taking a part of the medicine, lie swal- 
lowed it before them. The Countess now bought 
what remained, a step to which Janet, by farther 
objections, only determined her the more obsti- 
nately. She even took the first dose upon the in- 
stant, and professed to feel her heart lightened and 
her spirits augmented, — a consequence which, in 
all probability, existed only in her own imagina- 
tion. The lady . then piled the purchases she had 
made together, flung her purse to Janet, and desired 
her to compute the amount, and to pay the pedlar ; 
while she herself, as if tired of the amusement she 
at first found in conversing with him, wished him 
good evening, and walked carelessly into the house, 
thus depriving Wayland of every opportunity to 
speak with her in private. He hastened, however, 
to attempt an explanation with Janet, {a) 1 

“ Maiden,” he said; “ thou hast the face of one 
who should love her mistress. She hath much need 
of faithful service.” 

“And well deserves it at my hands,” replied 
Janet ; “ but what of that ? ” 

“ Maiden, I am not altogether what I seem,” said 
the pedlar, lowering his voice. 

“ The less like to be an honest man,” said Janet. 

“ The more so,” answered Wayland, “ since I am 
no pedlar.” 

“ Get thee gone then instantly, or I will call for 
assistance,” said Janet ; “ my father must ere this 
be returned.” 

“Do not be so rash,” said Wayland; “you will 
do what you may repent of. I am one of your mis- 

1 See Editor’s Notes at the end of the Volume. Wherever a 
similar reference occurs, the reader will understand that the same 
direction applies. 


4o 


KENILWORTH. 


tress’s friends ; and she had need of more, not that 
thou shouldst ruin those she hath.” 

“ How shall I know that ? ” said Janet. 

“ Look me in the face,” said Wayland Smith, “ and 
see if thou dost not read honesty in my looks.” 

And in truth, though by no means handsome, 
there was in his physiognomy the sharp, keen ex- 
pression of inventive genius and prompt intellect, 
which, joined to quick and brilliant eyes, a well- 
formed mouth, and an intelligent smile, often gives 
grace and interest to features which are both homely 
and irregular. Janet looked at him with the sly 
simplicity of her sect, and replied, “ Notwithstand- 
ing thy boasted honesty, friend, and although I am 
not accustomed to read and pass judgment on such 
volumes as thou hast submitted to my perusal, I 
think I see in thy countenance something of the 
pedlar — something of the picaroon.” 

“ On a small scale, perhaps,” said Wayland Smith, 
laughing. “ But this evening, or to-morrow, will an 
old man come hither with thy father, who has the 
stealthy step of the cat, the shrewd and vindictive 
eye of the rat, the fawning wile of the spaniel, the de- 
termined snatch of the mastiff — of him beware, for 
your own sake, and that of your mistress. See you, fair 
Janet, he brings the venom of the aspic under the as- 
sumed innocence of the dove. What precise mischief 
he meditates towards you I cannot guess, but death 
and disease have ever dogged his footsteps. — Say 
nought of this to thy mistress — my art suggests to 
me that in her state, the fear of evil may be as danger- 
ous as its operation — But see that she take my spe- 
cific, for” — (he lowered his voice, and spoke low 
but impressively in her ear)— “ it is an antidote 
against poison — Hark, they enter the garden ! ” 

In effect, a sound of noisy mirth and loud talking 


KENILWORTH. 


4i 


approached the garden door, alarmed by which Way- 
land Smith sprung into the midst of a thicket of 
overgrown shrubs, while Janet withdrew to the 
garden-house that she might not incur observation, 
and that she might at the same time conceal, at 
least for the present, the purchases made from the 
supposed pedlar, which lay scattered on the floor of 
the summer-house. 

Janet, however, had no occasion for anxiety. Hei 
father, his old attendant, Lord Leicester’s domes tic. 
and the astrologer, entered the garden in tumult 
and in extreme perplexity, endeavouring to quiet 
Lambourne, whose brain had now become com- 
pletely fired with liquor, and who was one of those 
unfortunate persons, who, being once stirred with 
the vinous stimulus, do not fall asleep like other 
drunkards, but remain partially influenced by it for 
many hours, until at length, by successive draughts, 
they are elevated into a state of uncontrollable 
frenzy. Like many men in this state also, Lam- 
bourne neither lost the power of motion, speech, or 
expression ; but, on the contrary, spoke with un- 
wonted emphasis and readiness, and told all that at 
another time he would have been most desirous to 
keep secret. 

“ What ! ” ejaculated Michael, at the full extent 
of his voice, “ am I to have no welcome, — no ca- 
rouse, when I have brought fortune to your old 
ruinous dog-house in the shape of a devil’s ally, that 
can change slate-shivers into Spanish dollars ? — 
Here, you Tony Fire-the-Fagot, papist, puritan, hypo- 
crite, miser, pro {ligate, devil, compounded of all men’s 
sins, bow down and reverence him who has brought 
into thy house the very mammon thou worshippest !” 

“ For God’s sake,” said Foster, “ speak low — come 


42 


KENILWORTH. 


into the house — thou shalt have wine, or whatever 
thou wilt.” 

“ No, old puckfoist, I will have it here,” thundered 
the inebriated ruffian — “here, al fresco , as the 
Italian hath it. — No, no, I will not drink with that 
poisoning devil within doors, to be choked with the 
fumes of arsenic and quicksilver ; I learned from 
villain Varney to beware of that.” 

“ Fetch him wine, in the name of all the fiends ! ” 
said the alchymist. 

“Aha! and thou wouldst spice it for me, old 
Truepenny, wouldst thou not ? Ay, I should have 
copperas, and hellebore, and vitriol, and aquafortis, 
and twenty devilish materials, bubbling in my brain- 
pan, like a charm to raise the devil in a witch’s 
cauldron. Hand me the flask thyself, old Tony 
Fire-the-Fagot — and let it be cool — I will have no 
wine mulled at the pile of the old burnt bishops — • 
Or stay, let Leicester be king if he will — good — 
and Varney, villain Varney, grand vizier — why, ex- 
cellent! — and what shall I be, then ? — why, em- 
peror — Emperor Lambourne ! — I will see this 
choice piece of beauty that they have walled up 
here for their private pleasures — I will have her 
this very night to serve my wine-cup, and put on 
my nightcap. What should a fellow do with two 
wives, were he twenty times an Earl ? — answer me 
that, Tony boy, you old reprobate hypocritical dog, 
whom God struck out of the book of life, but tor- 
mented with the constant wish to be restored to it 
— You old bishop-burning, blasphemous fanatic, an- 
swer me that ? ” 

“ I will stick my knife to the haft in him,” said 
Foster, in a low tone, which trembled with passion. 

“For the love of Heaven, no violence !” said the 


KENILWORTH. 


41 


astrologer. “ It cannot but be looked closely into. 
— Here, honest Lambourne, wilt thou pledge me to 
the health of the noble Earl of Leicester and Master 
Richard Varney ? ” 

“ I will, mine old Albumazar — I will, my trusty 
vender of ratsbane — I would kiss thee, mine honest 
infractor of the Lex Julia ( b ) (as they said at Ley 
den,) didst thou not flavour so damnably of sulphur 
and such fiendish apothecary’s stuff. — Here goes it' 
up seyes — to Varney and Leicester! — two more 
noble mounting spirits — and more dark -seeking, 
deep-diving, high-flying, malicious, ambitious mis- 
creants — well, I say no more, but I will whet my 
dagger on his heart-spone, that refuses to pledge 
me ! And so, my masters ” 

Thus speaking, Lambourne exhausted the cup 
which the astrologer had handed to him, and which 
contained not wine, but distilled spirits. He swore 
half an oath, dropped the empty cup from his grasp, 
laid his hand on his sword without being able to 
draw it, reeled, and fell without sense or motion 
into the arms of the domestic, who dragged him off 
to his chamber and put him to bed. 

In the general confusion, Janet regained her lady’s 
chamber unobserved, trembling like an aspen leaf, 
but determined to keep secret from the Countess 
the dreadful surmises which she could not help en- 
tertaining from the drunken ravings of Lambourne. 
Her fears, however, though they assumed no certain 
shape, kept pace with the advice of the pedlar ; and 
she confirmed her mistress in her purpose of taking 
the medicine which he had recommended, from 
which it is probable she would otherwise have dis- 
suaded her. Neither had these intimations escaped 
the ears of Wayland, who knew much better how 


44 


KENILWORTH. 


to interpret them. He felt much compassion at be- 
holding so lovely a creature as the Countess, and 
whom he had first seen in the bosom of domestic 
happiness, exposed to the machinations of such a 
gang of villains. His indignation, too, had been 
highly excited, by hearing the voice of his old mas- 
ter, against whom he felt, in equal degree, the pas- 
sions of hatred and fear. He nourished also a pride 
in his own art and resources ; and, dangerous as the 
task was, he that night formed a determination to 
attain the bottom of the mystery, and to aid the 
distressed lady, if it were yet possible. From some 
words which Lambourne had dropped among his 
ravings, Way land now, for the first time, felt in- 
clined to doubt that Varney had acted entirely on 
his own account in wooing and winning the affec- 
tions of this beautiful creature. Fame asserted of 
this zealous retainer, that he had accommodated his 
lord in former love intrigues ; and it occurred to 
Wayland Smith, that Leicester himself might be the 
party chiefly interested. Her marriage with the 
Earl he could not suspect ; but even the discovery 
of such a passing intrigue with a lady of Mistress 
Amy Robsart’s rank, was a secret of the deepest 
importance to the stability of the favourite's power 
over Elizabeth. “ If Leicester himself should hesi- 
tate to stifle such a rumour by very strange means," 
said he to himself, “ he has those about him who 
would do him that favour without waiting for his 
consent. If I would meddle in this business, it 
must be in such guise as my old master uses when 
he compounds his manna of Satan, and that is with 
a close mask on my face. So I will quit Giles Gos- 
ling to-morrow, and change my course and place of 
residence as often as a hunted fox. I should like 


KENILWORTH. 


45 


to see this little puritan, too, once more. She looks 
both pretty and intelligent, to have come of such a 
caitiff as Anthony Eire-the-Fagot.” 

Giles Gosling received the adieus of Wayland 
rather joyfully than otherwise. The honest publi- 
can saw so much peril in crossing the course of the 
Earl of Leicester’s favourite, that his virtue was 
scarce able to support him in the task, and he was 
well pleased when it was likely to be removed from 
his shoulders; still, however, professing his good- 
will, and readiness, in case of need, to do Master 
Tressilian or his emissary any service, in so far as 
consisted with his character of a publican. 


CHAPTER IV 


Vaulting ambition, that o’erleaps itself, 

And falls on t’other side. 

Macbeth. 

The splendour of the approaching revels at Kenil- 
worth was now the conversation through all Eng- 
land ; and every thing was collected at home, or from 
abroad, which could add to the gaiety or glory of 
the prepared reception of Elizabeth, at the house of 
her most distinguished favourite. Meantime, Lei- 
cester appeared daily to advance in the Queen’s 
favour. He was perpetually by her side in council, 
willingly listened to in the moments of courtly re- 
creation — favoured with approaches even to familiar 
intimacy — looked up to by all who had aught to 
hope at court — courted by foreign ministers with 
the most flattering testimonies of respect from their 
sovereigns — the Alter Ego , as it seemed, of the 
stately Elizabeth, who was now very generally 
supposed to be studying the time and opportunity 
for associating him, by marriage, into her sovereign 
power. 

Amid such a tide of prosperity, this minion of 
fortune, and of the Queen’s favour, was probably 
the most unhappy man in the realm which seemed 
at his devotion. He had the Fairy King’s superi- 
ority over his friends and dependents, and saw much 
which they could not. The character of his mis- 
tress was intimately known to him; it was his 


KENILWORTH. 


47 


minute and studied acquaintance with her humours, 
as well as her noble faculties, which, joined to his 
powerful mental qualities, and his eminent external 
accomplishments, had raised him so high in her 
favour ; and it was that very knowledge of her dis- 
position which led him to apprehend at every turn 
some sudden and overwhelming disgrace. Leicester 
was like a pilot possessed of a chart, which points 
out to him all the peculiarities of his navigation, but 
which exhibits so many shoals, breakers, and reefs 
of rocks, that his anxious eye reaps little more from 
observing them, than to be convinced that his final 
escape can be little else than miraculous. 

In fact, Queen Elizabeth had a character strangely 
compounded of the strongest masculine sense, with 
those foibles which are chiefly supposed proper to 
the female sex. Her subjects had the full benefit 
of her virtues, which far predominated over her 
weaknesses ; but her courtiers, and those about her 
person, had often to sustain sudden and embarrass- 
ing turns of - caprice, and the sallies of a temper 
which was both jealous and despotic. She was the 
nursing-mother of her people, but she was also the 
true daughter of Henry VIII. ; and though early 
sufferings and an excellent education had repressed 
and modified, they had not altogether destroyed, 
the hereditary temper of that “ hard-ruled King.” 
— “ Her mind,” says her witty god-son, Sir John 
Harrington, who had experienced both the smiles 
and the frowns which he describes, “ was ofttime like 
the gentle air, that cometh from the western point 
in a summer’s morn — ’twas sweet and refreshing to 
all around her. Her speech did win all affections. 
And again, she could put forth such alterations, 
when obedience was lacking, as left no doubting 


48 


KENILWORTH. 


whose daughter she was. When she smiled, it way 
a pure sunshine, that every one did choose to bask 
in, if they could ; but anon came a storm, from a 
sudden gathering of clouds, and the thunder fell, in 
a wondrous manner, on all alike.” 1 

This variability of disposition, as Leicester well 
knew, was chiefly formidable to those who had a 
share in the Queen’s affections, and who depended 
rather on her personal regard, than on the indispen- 
sable services which they could render to her coun- 
cils and her crown. The favour of Burleigh, or of 
Walsingham, of a description far less striking than 
that by which he was himself upheld, was founded, 
as Leicester was well aware, on Elizabeth’s solid 
judgment, not on her partiality ; and was, therefore, 
free from all those principles of change and decay, 
necessarily incident to that which chiefly arose from 
personal accomplishments and female predilection. 
These great and sage statesmen were judged of by 
the Queen, only with reference to the measures they 
suggested, and the reasons by which they supported 
their opinions in council ; whereas the success of 
Leicester’s course depended on all those light and 
changeable gales of caprice and humour, which 
thwart or favour the progress of a lover in the 
favour of his mistress, arid she, too, a mistress who 
was ever and anon becoming fearful lest she should 
forget the dignity, or compromise the authority, of 
the Queen, while she indulged the affections of the 
woman. Of the difficulties which surrounded his 
power, “ too great to keep or to resign,” Leicester 
was fully sensible ; and, as he looked anxiously 
round for the means of maintaining himself in his 
precarious situation, and sometimes contemplated 
1 Nugae Antiquae, vol. i., pp. 355, 356-362. 


KENILWORTH. 


49 


those of descending from it in safety, he saw but 
little hope of either. At such moments, his thoughts 
turned to dwell upon his secret marriage, and its 
consequences ; and it was in bitterness against him- 
self, if not against his unfortunate Countess, that 
he ascribed to that hasty measure, adopted in the 
ardour of what he now oalled inconsiderate passion, 
at once the impossibility of placing his power on 
a solid basis, and the immediate prospect of its 
precipitate downfall. 

“Men say,” thus ran his thoughts, in these anx- 
ious and repentant moments, “ that I might marry 
Elizabeth, and become King of England. All things 
suggest this. The match is carolled in ballads, while 
the rabble throw their caps up — It has been touched 
upon in the schools — whispered in the presence- 
chamber — recommended from the pulpit — prayed 
for in the Calvinistic churches abroad — touched on 
by statists in the very council at home — These bold 
insinuations have been rebutted by no rebuke, no 
resentment, no chiding, scarce even by the usual 
female protestation that she would live and die a 
virgin princess. — Her words have been more courte- 
ous than ever, though she knows such rumours are 
abroad — her actions more gracious — her looks more 
kind — nought seems wanting to make me King of 
England, and place me beyond the storms of court- 
favour, excepting the putting forth of mine own hand 
to take that crown imperial, which is the glory of 
the universe ! And when I might stretch that hand 
out most boldly, it is fettered down by a secret and 
inextricable bond ! — And here I have letters from 
Amy,” he would say, catching them up with a move- 
ment of peevishness, “persecuting me to acknow- 
ledge her openly — to do justice to her and to myself 


5 ° 


KENILWORTH. 


— and I wot not what. Methinks I have done 
less than justice to myself already. And she speaks 
as if .Elizabeth were to receive the knowledge of 
this matter with the glee of a mother hearing of the 
happy marriage of a hopeful son ! — She, the daugh- 
ter of Henry, who spared neither man in his anger, 
nor woman in his desire, — she to find herself 
tricked, drawn on with toys of passion to the verge of 
acknowledging her love to a subject, and he dis- 
covered to be a married man ! — Elizabeth to learn 
that she had been dallied with in such fashion, as a 
gay courtier might trifle with a country wench — We 
should then see to our ruin furens quid fcernina ! ” 

He would then pause, and call for Varney, whose 
advice was now more frequently resorted to than 
ever, because the Earl remembered the remonstrances 
which he had made against his secret contract. 
And their consultation usually terminated in anx- 
ious deliberation, how, or in what manner, the 
Countess was to be produced at Kenilworth. These 
communings had for some time ever ended in a reso- 
lution to delay the Progress from day to day. But 
at length a peremptory decision became necessary. 

“ Elizabeth will not be satisfied without her pres- 
ence,” said the Earl ; “ whether any suspicion hath 
entered her mind, as my own apprehensions sug- 
gest, or whether the petition of Tressilian is kept 
in her memory by Sussex, or some other secret 
enemy, I know not ; but amongst all the favourable 
expressions which she uses to me, she often recurs 
to the story of Amy Robsart. I think that Amy is 
the slave in the chariot, who is placed there by my 
evil fortune to dash and to confound my triumph, 
even when at the highest. Show me thy device, 
Varney, for solving the inextricable difficulty. I 


KENILWORTH. 


51 

have thrown every such impediment in the way of 
these accursed revels as I could propound even with 
a shade of decency, but to-day’s interview has put 
all to a hazard. She said to me kindly, but peremp- 
torily, ‘ We will give you no farther time for prepa- 
rations, my lord, lest you should altogether ruin 
yourself. On Saturday, the 9th of July, we will 
be with you at Kenilworth — We pray you to for- 
get none of our appointed guests and suitors, and 
in especial this light-o-love, Amy Robsart. We 
would wish to see the woman who could postpone 
yonder poetical gentleman, Master Tressilian, to 
your man, Richard Varney.’ — Now, Varney, ply 
thine invention, whose forge hath availed us so often ; 
for sure as my name is Dudley, the danger menaced 
by my horoscope is now darkening around me.” 

“ Can my lady be by no means persuaded to bear 
for a brief space the obscure character which cir- 
cumstances impose on her ? ” said Varney, after some 
hesitation. 

“ How, sirrah ! my Countess term herself thy 
wife ! — that may neither stand with my honour nor 
with hers.” 

“ Alas ! my lord,” answered Varney, “ and yet 
such is the quality in which Elizabeth now holds 
her ; and to contradict this opinion is to discover 
all.” 

“ Think of something else, Varney,” said the 
Earl, in great agitation ; “ this invention is naught 
— If I could give way to it, she would not ; for I 
tell thee, Varney, if thou know’st it not, that not 
Elizabeth on the throne has more pride than the 
daughter of this obscure gentleman of Devon. She 
is flexible in many things, but where she holds her 
honour brought. in question, she hath a spirit and 


5 * 


KENILWORTH. 


temper as apprehensive as lightning, and as swift 
in execution.” 

“We have experienced that, my lord, else had 
we not been thus circumstanced,” said Varney. 
“ But what else to suggest I know not — Methinks 
she whose good fortune in becoming your lordship’s 
bride gives rise to the danger, should do somewhat 
towards parrying it.” 

“ It is impossible,” said the Earl, waving his hand ; 
u I know neither authority nor entreaties would 
make her endure thy name for an hour.” 

“ It is somewhat hard, though,” said Varney, in 
a dry tone ; and, without pausing on that topic, he 
added, “ Suppose some one were found to represent 
her ? Such feats have been performed in the courts 
of as sharp-eyed monarch s as Queen Elizabeth.” 

“Utter madness, Varney,” answered the Earl; 
“the counterfeit would be confronted with Tres- 
silian, and discovery become inevitable.” 

“ Tressilian might be removed from court,” said 
the unhesitating Varney. 

“ And by what means ? ” 

“ There are many,” said Varney, “ by which a 
statesman in your situation, my lord, may remove 
from the scene one who pries into your affairs, and 
places himself in perilous opposition to you.” 

“Speak not to me of such policy, Varney,” said 
the Earl, hastily ; “ which, besides, would avail 
nothing in the present case. Many others there be 
at court, to whom Amy may be known ; and besides, 
on the absence of Tressilian, her father or some of 
her friends would be instantly summoned hither. 
Urge thine invention once more.” 

“ My lord, I know not what to say,” answered 
Varney; “but were I myself in such perplexity, I 


KENILWORTH. 


53 


would ride post down to Cumnor Place, and compel 
my wife to give her consent to such measures as her 
safety and mine required.” 

“Varney,” said Leicester, “I cannot urge her to 
aught so repugnant to her noble nature, as a share 
in this stratagem — it would be a base requital for 
the love she bears me.” 

“Well, my lord,” said Varney, “your lordship 
is a wise and an honourable man, and skilled in those 
high points of romantic scruple, which are current 
in Arcadia, perhaps, as your nephew, Philip Sid- 
ney, writes. I am your humble servitor — a man of 
this world, and only happy that my knowledge of it, 
and its ways, is such as your lordship has not 
scorned to avail yourself of. Now I would fain 
know, whether the obligation lies on my lady or on 
you, in this fortunate union ; and which has most rea- 
son to show complaisance to the other, and to consi- 
der that other’s wishes, conveniences, and safety ? ” 

“I tell thee, Varney,” said the Earl, “that all it 
was in my power to bestow upon her, was not 
merely deserved, but a thousand times overpaid, by 
her own virtue and beauty ; for never did greatness 
descend upon a creature so formed by nature to 
grace and adorn it.” 

“It is well, my lord, you are so satisfied,” an- 
swered Varney, with his usual sardonic smile, which 
even respect to his patron could not at all times 
subdue — “ you will have time enough to enjoy un- 
disturbed the society of one so gracious and beauti- 
ful — that is, so soon as such confinement in the 
Tower be over, as may correspond to the crime of 
deceiving the affections of Elizabeth Tudor — A 
cheaper penalty, I presume, you do not expect.” 

“ Malicious fiend ! ” answered Leicester, “ do you 


$4 KENILWORTH. 

mock me in my misfortune ? — Manage it as thou 
wilt.” 

“If you are serious, my lord,” said Varney, “you 
must set forth instantly, and post for Cumnor 
Place.” 

“Do thou go thyself, Varney ; the devil has given 
thee that sort of eloquence, which is most powerful 
in the worst cause. I should stand self-convicted 
of villainy, were I to urge such a deceit. — Begone, 
I tell thee — Must I entreat thee to mine own 
dishonour ! ” 

“No, my lord,” said Varney — “but if you are 
serious in intrusting me with the task of urging this 
most necessary measure, you must give me a letter 
to my lady, as my credentials, and trust to me for 
backing the advice it contains with all the force in 
my power. And such is my opinion of my lady’s 
love for your lordship, and of her willingness to do 
that which is at once to contribute to your pleas- 
ure and your safety, that I am sure she will con- 
descend to bear, for a few brief days, the name of 
so humble a man as myself, especially since it is 
not inferior in antiquity to that of her own paternal 
house.” 

Leicester seized on writing materials, and twice 
or thrice commenced a letter to the Countess, which 
he afterwards tore into fragments. At length he 
finished a few T distracted lines, in which he conjured 
her, for reasons nearly concerning his life and hon- 
our, to consent to bear the name of Varney for a 
few days, during the revels at Kenilworth. He 
added, that Varney would communicate all the rea- 
sons which rendered this deception indispensable ; 
and having signed and sealed these credentials, he 
flung them over the table to Varney, with a motion 


KENILWORTH. 


55 


that he should depart, which his adviser was not 
slow to comprehend and to obey. 

Leicester remained like one stupified, till he heard 
the trampling of the horses, as Yarney, who took no 
time even to change his dress, threw himself into 
the saddle, and, followed by a single servant, set off 
for Berkshire. At the sound, the Earl started from 
his seat, and ran to the window, with the momen- 
tary purpose of recalling the unworthy commission 
with which he had entrusted one, of whom he used 
to say, he knew no virtuous property save affection 
to his patron. But Yarney was already beyond call 
— and the bright starry firmament, which the age 
considered as the Book of Fate, lying spread before 
Leicester when he opened the casement, diverted 
him from his better and more manly purpose. 

“There they roll, on their silent, but potential 
course,” said the Earl, looking around him, “ without 
a voice which speaks to our ear, but not without in- 
fluences which affect, at every change, the indwellers 
of this vile earthly planet. This, if astrologers fable 
not, is the very crisis of my fate ! The hour ap- 
proaches, of which I was taught to beware — the 
hour, too, which I was encouraged to hope for. — A 
King was the word — but how ? — the crown matri- 
monial — all hopes of that are gone — let them go. The 
rich Netherlands have demanded me for their leader, 
and, would Elizabeth consent, would yield to me 
their crown. — And have I not such a claim, even 
in this kingdom ? That of York, descending from 
George of Clarence to the House of Huntingdon, 
which, this lady failing, may have a fair chance — 
Huntingdon is of my house. — But I will plunge no 
deeper in these high mysteries. Let me hold my 
course in silence for a while, and in obscurity, like a 


56 


KENILWORTH. 


subterranean river — the time shall come that I will 
burst forth in my strength, and bear all opposition 
before me.” 

While Leicester was thus stupifying the remon- 
strances of his own conscience, by appealing to po- 
litical necessity for his apology, or losing himself 
amidst the wild dreams of ambition, his agent left 
town and tower behind him, on his hasty journey 
to Berkshire. He also nourished high hope. He 
had brought Lord Leicester to the point which he 
had desired, of committing to him the most intimate 
recesses of his breast, and of using him as the chan- 
nel of his most confidential intercourse with his lady. 
Henceforward it would, he foresaw, be difficult for 
his patron either to dispense with his services, or 
refuse his requests, however unreasonable. And if 
this disdainful dame, as he termed the Countess, 
should comply with the request of her husband, 
Varney, her pretended husband, must needs become 
so situated with respect to her, that there was no 
knowing where his audacity might be bounded ; 
perhaps not till circumstances enabled him to ob- 
tain a triumph, which he thought of with a mixture 
of fiendish feelings, in which revenge for her pre- 
vious scorn was foremost and predominant. Again 
he contemplated the possibility of her being totally 
intractable, and refusing obstinately to play the part 
assigned to her in the drama at Kenilworth. 

“Alasco must then do his part,” he said — “Sick- 
ness must serve her Majesty as an excuse for not 
receiving the homage of Mrs. Varney — ay, and a 
sore and a wasting sickness it may prove, should 
Elizabeth continue to cast so favourable an eye on 
my Lord of Leicester. I will not forego the chance 
of being favourite of a monarch for want of deter- 


KENILWORTH. 


57 


rained measures, should these be necessary. — For- 
ward, good horse, forward — ambition, and haughty 
hope of power, pleasure, and revenge, strike their 
stings as deep through my bosom as I plunge the 
rowels in thy flanks — On, good horse, on — the 
devil urges us both forward.” 


CHAPTER Y. 


Say that my beauty was but small, 

Among court ladies all despised, 

Why didst thou rend it from that hall, 

Where, scornful Earl, ’twas dearly prized? 

No more thou com’st with wouted speed, 

Thy once beloved bride to see ; 

But be she alive, or be she dead, 

I fear, stern Earl, ’s the same to thee. 

Cumnor-Hall, by William Julius Mickle. 

The ladies of fashion of the present, or of any 
other period, must have allowed, that the young and 
lovely Countess of Leicester had, besides her youth 
and beauty, two qualities which entitled her to a 
place amongst women of rank and distinction. She 
displayed, as we have seen in her interview with the 
pedlar, a liberal promptitude to make unnecessary 
purchases, solely for the pleasure of acquiring use- 
less and showy trifles which ceased to please as soon 
as they were possessed ; and she was, besides, apt 
to spend a considerable space of time every day in 
adorning her person, although the varied splendour of 
her attire could only attract the half satirical praise 
of the precise Janet, or an approving glance from 
the bright eyes which witnessed their own beams of 
triumph reflected from the mirror. 

The Countess Amy had, indeed, to plead for in- 
dulgence in those frivolous tastes, that the education 
of the times had done little or nothing for a mind 


KENILWORTH. 


59 


naturally gay and averse to study. If she had not 
loved to collect finery and to wear it, she might have 
woven tapestry or sewed embroidery, till her la- 
bours spread in gay profusion all over the walls and 
seats at Lidcote-Hall ; or she might have varied Mi 
nerva’s labours with the task of preparing a mighty 
pudding against the time that Sir Hugh Robsart 
returned from the greenwood. But Amy had no 
natural genius either for the loom, the needle, or the 
receipt-book. Her mother had died in infancy ; her 
father contradicted her in nothing ; and Tressilian, 
the only one that approached her, who was able or 
desirous to attend to the cultivation of her mind, 
had much hurt his interest with her, by assuming 
too eagerly the task of a preceptor ; so that he was 
regarded by the lively, indulged, and idle girl, with 
some fear and much respect ; but with little or no- 
thing of that softer emotion which it had been his 
hope and his ambition to inspire. And thus her heart 
lay readily open, and her fancy became easily cap- 
tivated by the noble exterior and graceful deport- 
ment, and complacent flattery of Leicester, even 
before he was known to her as the dazzling minion 
of wealth and power. 

The frequent visits of Leicester at Cumnor, dur- 
ing the earlier part of their union, had reconciled 
the Countess to the solitude and privacy to which 
she was condemned ; but when these visits became 
rarer and more rare, and when the void was filled up 
with letters of excuse, not always very warmly ex- 
pressed, and generally extremely brief, discontent 
and suspicion began to haunt those splendid apart- 
ments which love had fitted up for beauty. Her 
answers to Leicester conveyed these feelings too 
bluntly, and pressed more naturally than prudently 


6o 


KENILWORTH. 


that she might be relieved from this obscure and 
secluded residence, by the Earl’s acknowledgment 
of their marriage ; and in arranging her arguments, 
with all the skill she was mistress of, she trusted 
chiefly to the warmth of the entreaties with which 
she urged them. Sometimes she even ventured to 
mingle reproaches, of which Leicester conceived he 
had good reason to complain. 

“I have made her Countess,” he said to Varney; 
u surely she might wait till it consisted with my 
pleasure that she should put on the coronet ? ” 

The Countess Amy viewed the subject in directly 
an opposite light. 

“ What signifies,” she said, “ that I have rank and 
honour in reality, if I am to live an obscure prisoner, 
without either society or observance, and suffer- 
ing in my character, as one of dubious or disgraced 
reputation ? I care not for all those strings of 
pearl, which you fret me by warping into my tresses, 
Janet. I tell you, that at Lidcote-Hall, if I put but 
a fresh rose-bud among my hair, my good father 
would call me to him, that he might see it more 
closely ; and the kind old curate would smile, and 
Master Mumblazen would say something about roses 
gules ; and now I sit here, decked out like an image 
with gold and gems, and no one to see my finery 
but you, Janet. There was the poor Tressilian, too 
— but it avails not speaking of him.” 

“ It doth not indeed, madam,” said her prudent 
attendant ; “ and verily you make me sometimes 
wish you would not speak of him so often, or so 
rashly.” 

“ It signifies nothing to warn me, Janet,” said the 
impatient and incorrigible Countess ; “ I was born 
free, though I am now mewed up like some fine 


KENILWORTH. 


61 


foreign slave, rather than the wife of an English 
noble. I bore it all with pleasure while I was sure 
he loved me ; but, now, my tongue and heart shall 
be free, let them fetter these limbs as they will — I 
tell thee, Janet, I love my husband — I will love 
him till my latest breath — I cannot cease to love 
him, even if I would, or if he — which, God knows, 
may chance — should cease to love me. But I will 
say, and loudly, I would have been happier than I 
now am, to have remained in Lidcote-Hall ; even 
although I must have married poor Tressilian, with 
his melancholy look, and his head full of learning, 
which I cared not for. He said, if I would read his 
favourite volumes, there would come a time that I 
should be glad of having done so — I think it is 
come now.” 

“I bought you some books, madam, 1 ” said Janet, 
" from a lame fellow who sold them in the Market- 
place — and who stared something boldly at me, I 
promise you.” 

“ Let me see them, Janet,” said the Countess ; 
“ but let them not be of your own precise cast. — 
How is this, most righteous damsel ? — * A Pair of 
Snuffers for the Golden Candlestick ’ — ‘A Handful 
of Myrrh and Hyssop to put a Sick Soul to Purga- 
tion ’ — * A. Draught of Water from the Valley of 
Baca * — 1 Foxes and Firebrands ’ — What gear call 
you this, maiden ? ” 

“ Nay, madam,” said Janet, “ it was but fitting 
and seemly to put grace in your ladyship’s way ; but 
an you will none of it, there are play-books, and 
poet-books, I trow.” 

The Countess proceeded carelessly in her exami- 
nation, turning over such rare volumes as would 
now make the fortune of twenty retail bookselleia 


62 


KENILWORTH. 


Here was a “ Bolce of CooJcery , imprinted by Richard 
Lantf and “ Skelton's Books ” — “ The Passtime of 
the People ” — " The Castle of Knowledge &c. But 
neither to this lore did the Countess’s heart incline, 
and joyfully did she start up from the listless task 
of turning over the leaves of the pamphlets, and 
hastily did she scatter them through the floor, when 
the rapid clatter of horses’ feet, heard in the court- 
yard, called her to the window, exclaiming, “ It is 
Leicester ! — it is my noble Earl! — it is my Dud* 
ley ! — Every stroke of his horse’s hoof sounds like 
a note of lordly music ! ” 

There was a brief bustle in the mansion, and Fos- 
ter, with his downward look and sullen manner, en- 
tered the apartment to say, “ That Master Richard 
Yarney was arrived from my lord, having ridden all 
night, and craved to speak with her ladyship 
instantly.” 

"Yarney?” said the disappointed Countess;" and 
to speak with me ? — pshaw ! — But he comes with 
news from Leicester — so admit him instantly.” 

Yarney entered her dressing-apartment, where she 
sat arrayed in her native loveliness, adorned with 
all that Janet’s art, and a rich and tasteful undress, 
could bestow. But the most beautiful part of her 
attire was her profuse and luxuriant light-brown 
locks, which floated in such rich abundance around a 
neck that resembled a swan’s, and over a bosom heav- 
ing with anxious expectation, which communicated 
a hurried tinge of red to her whole countenance. 

Yarney entered the room in the dress in which 
he had waited on his master that morning to court, 
the splendour of which made a strange contrast with 
the disorder arising from hasty riding during a dark 
night and foul ways. His brow bore an anxious 


KENILWORTH. 


63 

and hurried expression, as one who has that to say 
of which he doubts the reception, and who hath yet 
posted on from the necessity of communicating his 
tidings. The Countess’s anxious eye at once caught 
the alarm, as she exclaimed, “ You bring news from 
my lord, Master Varney — Gracious Heaven! is he 
ill ? ” 

“Ho, madam, thank Heaven!” said Varney. 
“ Compose yourself, and permit me to take breath 
ere I communicate my tidings.” 

“No breath, sir,” replied the lady, impatiently ; 
“ I know your theatrical arts. Since your breath 
hath sufficed to bring you hither, it may suffice to 
tell your tale, at least briefly, and in the gross.” 

“Madam,” answered Varney, “we are not alone, 
and my lord’s message was for your ear only.” 

“ Leave us, Janet, and Master Foster,” said the 
lady ; “ but remain in the next apartment, and 
within call.” 

Foster and his daughter retired, agreeably to the 
Lady Leicester’s commands, into the next apart- 
ment, which was the withdrawing-room. The door 
which led from the sleeping-chamber was then care- 
fully shut and bolted, and the father and daughter 
remained both in a posture of anxious attention, the 
first with a stern, suspicious, lowering cast of coun- 
tenance, and Janet with folded hands, and looks 
which seemed divided betwixt her desire to know 
the fortunes of her mistress, and her prayers to 
Heaven for her safety. Anthony Foster seemed 
himself to have some idea of what was passing 
through his daughter’s mind, for he crossed the 
apartment and took her anxiously by the hand, 
saying, “That is right — pray, Janet, pray — we 
have all need of prayers, and some of us more than 


6 4 


KENILWORTH. 


others. Pray, Janet — I would pray myself, but I 
must listen to what goes on within — evil has been 
brewing, love — evil has been brewing. God forgive 
our sins ; but Varney’s sudden and strange arrival 
bodes us no good.” 

Janet had never before heard her father excite or 
even permit her attention to any thing which passed 
in their mysterious family, and now that he did so, 
his voice sounded in her ear — she knew not why — 
like that of a screech-owl denouncing some deed of 
terror and of woe. She turned her eyes fearfully 
towards the door, almost as if she expected some 
sounds of horror to be heard, or some sight of fear 
to display itself. 

All, however, was as still as death, and the voices 
of those who spoke in the inner chamber were, if 
they spoke at all, carefully subdued to a tone which 
could not be heard in the next. At once, however, 
they were heard to speak fast, thick, and hastily; 
and presently after the voice of the Countess was 
heard exolaiming, at the highest pitch to which in- 
dignation could raise it, “ Undo the door, sir, I com- 
mand you ! — Undo the door ! — I will have no other 
reply ! ” she continued, drowning with her vehement 
accents the low and muttered sounds which Varney 
was heard to utter betwixt whiles. “ What ho ! 
without there ! ” she persisted, accompanying her 
words with shrinks, “ Janet, alarm the house ! — 
Foster, break open the door — I am detained here 
by a traitor ! — Use axe and lever, Master Foster — 
I will be your warrant ! ” 

“ It shall not need, madam,” Varney was at length 
distinctly heard to say. “ If you please to expose 
my lord’s important concerns and your own to the 
general ear, I will not be your hinderance ” 


KENILWORTH. 


6 $ 

The door was unlocked and thrown open, and 
Janet and her father rushed in, anxious to learn the 
cause of these reiterated exclamations. 

When they entered the apartment, Varney stood 
by the door grinding his teeth, with an expression 
in which rage, and shame, and fear, had each their 
share. The Countess stood in the midst of her 
apartment like a juvenile Pythoness, under the in- 
fluence of the prophetic fury. The veins in her 
beautiful forehead started into swoln blue lines 
through the hurried impulse of her articulation — 
her cheek and neck glowed like scarlet — her eyes 
were like those of an imprisoned eagle, flashing red 
lightning on the foes whom it cannot reach with its 
talons. Were it possible for one of the 'Graces to 
have been animated by a Fury, the countenance 
could not have united such beauty with so much 
hatred, scorn, defiance, and resentment. The ges- 
ture and attitude corresponded with the voice and 
looks, and altogether presented a spectacle which 
was at once beautiful and fearful ; so much of the 
sublime had the energy of passion united with the 
Countess Amy’s natural loveliness. Janet, as soon 
as the’ door was open, ran to her mistress ; and more 
slowly, yet with more haste than he was wont, 
Anthony Foster went to Richard Varney. 

“In the Truth’s name, what ails your ladyship ? ” 
said the former. 

“ What, in the name of Satan, have you done to 
her ? ” said Foster to his friend. 

“Who, I? — nothing,” answered Varney, but 
with sunken head and sullen voice ; “ nothing but 
communicated to her her lord’s commands, which, 
if the lady list not to obey, she knows better how to 
answer it than I may pretend to do.” 


66 


KENILWORTH. 


“ Now, by Heaven, Janet,” said the Countess, “the 
false traitor lies in his throat ! He must needs lie, 
for he speaks to the dishonour of my noble lord — 
he must needs lie doubly, for he speaks to gain ends 
of his own, equally execrable and unattainable.” 

“ You have misapprehended me, lady,” said Var- 
ney, with a sulky species of submission and apology ; 
“ let this matter rest till your passion be abated, and 
I will explain all.” 

“ Thou shalt never have an opportunity to do so,” 
said the Countess. — “ Look at him, Janet. He is 
fairly dressed, hath the outside of a gentleman, and 
hither he came to persuade me it was my lord’s 
pleasure — nay, more, my wedded lord’s commands, 
that I should go with him to Kenilworth, and before 
the Queen and nobles, and in presence of my own 
wedded lord, that I should acknowledge him — 
him there — that very cloak -brushing, shoe-cleaning 
fellow — him there, my lord’s lackey, for my liege 
lord and husband ; furnishing against myself, great 
God ! whenever I was to vindicate my right and 
my rank, such weapons as would hew my just 
claim from the root, and destroy my character to be 
regarded as an honourable matron of the English 
nobility ! ” 

“ You hear her, Foster, and you, young maiden, 
hear this lady,” answered Varney, taking advantage 
of the pause which the Countess had made in her 
charge, more for lack of breath than for lack of 
matter — “ You hear that her heat only objects to 
me the course which our good lord, for the purpose 
to keep certain matters secret, suggests in the very 
letter which she holds in her hands.” 

Foster here attempted to interfere with a face of 
authority, which he thought became the charge 


KENILWORTH. 


67 


intrusted to him. “ Nay, lady, I must needs say you 
are over hasty in this — Such deceit is not utterly 
to be condemned when practised for a righteous 
end ; and thus even the patriarch Abraham feigned 
Sarah to be his sister when they went down to 
Egypt.” 

“ Ay, sir,” answered the Countess ; “ but God 
rebuked that deceit even in the father of his chosen 
people, by the mouth of the heathen Pharaoh. Out 
upon you, that will read Scripture only to copy 
those things which are held out to us as warnings, 
not as examples ! ” 

“ But Sarah disputed not the will of her husband, 
an it be your pleasure,” said Foster, ijy reply; “but 
did as Abraham commanded, calling herself his 
sister, that it might be well with her husband for 
her sake, and that his soul might live because of 
her beauty.” 

“ Now, so Heaven pardon me my useless anger,” 
answered tbe Countess, “ thou art as daring a hypo- 
crite as yonder fellow is an impudent deceiver ! 
Never will I believe that the noble Dudley gave 
countenance to so dastardly, so dishonourable a 
plan. Thus I tread on his infamy, if indeed it be, 
and thus destroy its remembrance for ever ! ” 

So saying, she tore in pieces Leicester’s letter, 
and stamped, in tbe extremity of impatience, as if 
she would have annihilated the minute fragments 
into which she had rent it. 

“Bear witness,” said Varney, collecting himself, 
“ she hath torn my lord’s letter, in order to burden 
me with the scheme of his devising ; and although 
it promises nought but danger and trouble to me, 
she would lay it to my charge, as if I had any pur- 
pose of mine own in it.” 


68 


KENILWORTH. 


“Thou liest, thou treacherous slave!” said the 
Countess, in spite of Janet’s attempts to keep her 
silent, in the sad foresight that her vehemence might 
only furnish arms against herself, — “ Thou liest ! ” 
she continued — “Let me go, Janet — Were it the 
last word I have to speak, he lies — he had his own 
foul ends to seek ; and broader he would have dis- 
played them, had my passion permitted me to pre- 
serve the silence which at first encouraged him to 
unfold his vile projects ” 

“ Madam,” said Varney, overwhelmed in spite of 
his effrontery, “ I entreat you to believe yourself 
mistaken.” 

“ As soon will I believe light darkness,” said the 
enraged Countess. “ Have I drank of oblivion ? 
Do I not remember former passages, which, known 
to Leicester, had given thee the preferment of a 
gallows, instead of the honour of his intimacy ? — I 
would I were a man but for five minutes ! It were 
space enough to make a craven like thee confess his 
villainy. But go — begone ! — Tell thy master, that 
when I take the foul course to which such scandalous 
deceits as thou hast recommended on his behalf must 
necessarily lead me, I will give him a rival some- 
thing worthy of the name. He shall not be sup- 
planted by an ignominious lackey, whose best 
fortune is to catch a gift of his master’s last suit of 
clothes ere it is threadbare, and who is only fit to 
seduce a suburb-wench by the bravery of new roses 
in his master’s old pantofles. Co, begone, sir — I 
scorn thee so much, that I am ashamed to have been 
angry with thee.” 

Varney left the room with a mute expression of 
Tage, and was followed by Foster, whose apprehen- 
sion, naturally slow, was overpowered by the eager 


KENILWORTH. 


69 

and abundant discharge of indignation, which, for 
the first time, he had heard burst from the lips of 
a being, who had seemed till that moment too lan- 
guid, and too gentle, to nurse an angry thought, or 
utter an intemperate expression. Foster, therefore, 
pursued Varney from place to place, persecuting 
him with interrogatories, to which the other replied 
not until they were in the opposite side of the quad- 
rangle, and in the old library, with which the reader 
has already been made acquainted. Here he 
turned round on his persevering follower, and thus 
addressed him, in a tone tolerably equal ; that brief 
walk having been sufficient to give one so habituated 
to command his temper, time to rally and recover 
his presence of mind. 

“ Tony,” he said, with his usual sneering laugh, 
“it avails not to deny it. The Woman and the 
Devil, who, as thine oracle Holdforth will confirm 
to thee, cheated man at the beginning, have this 
day proved more powerful than my discretion. Yon 
termagant looked so tempting, and had the art to 
preserve her countenance so naturally, while I com- 
municated my lord’s message, that, by my faith, I 
thought I might say some little thing for myself. 
She thinks she hath my head under her girdle now, 
but she is deceived. — Where is Doctor Alasco ? ” 

“In his laboratory,” answered Foster; “it is 
the hour he is not spoken withal — we must wait 
till noon is past, or spoil his important — What said 
I, important ? — I would say interrupt his divine 
studies.” 

“Ay, he studies the devil’s divinity,” said Var- 
ney, — “ but when I want him, one hour must suf- 
fice as well as another. Lead the way to his 
pandemonium.” 


70 


KENILWORTH. 


So spoke Varney, and with hasty and perturbed 
steps followed Foster, who conducted him through 
private passages, many of which were wellnigh rui- 
nous, to the opposite side of the quadrangle, where, 
in a subterranean apartment, now occupied by the 
chemist Alasco, one of the Abbots of Abingdon, 
who had a turn for the occult sciences, had, much 
to the scandal of his convent, established a labora- 
tory, in which, like other fools of the period, he 
spent much precious time, and money besides, in 
the pursuit of the grand arcanum. 

Anthony Foster paused before the door, which 
was scrupulously secured within, and again showed 
a marked hesitation to disturb the sage in his ope- 
rations. But Varney, less scrupulous, roused him, 
by knocking and voice, until at length, slowly and 
reluctantly, the inmate of the apartment undid the 
door. The chemist appeared, with his eyes bleared 
with the heat and vapours of the stove or alembic 
over which he brooded, and the interior of his cell 
displayed the confused assemblage of heterogeneous 
substances and extraordinary implements belonging 
to his profession. The old man was muttering, with 
spiteful impatience, “ Am I for ever to be recalled to 
the affairs of earth from those of heaven ? ” 

“To the affairs of hell,” answered Varney, “for 
that is thy proper element. — Foster, we need thee 
at our conference.” 

Foster slowly entered the room. Varney, follow- 
ing, barred the door, and they betook themselves to 
secret council. 

In the meanwhile, the Countess traversed the 
apartment, with shame and anger contending on her 
lovely cheek. 

“ The villain,” she said, “ the cold-blooded, cal- 


KENILWORTH. 


7i 


culating slave ! — But I unmasked him, Janet — I 
made the snake uncoil all his folds before me, and 
crawl abroad in his naked deformity — I suspended 
my resentment, at the danger of suffocating under 
the effort, until he had let me see the very bottom 
of a heart more foul than hell’s darkest corner. — 
And thou, Leicester, is it possible thou couldst 
bid me for a moment deny my wedded right in thee, 
or thyself yield it to another ! — But it is impossible 

— the villain has lied in all. — Janet, I will not re- 
main here longer — I fear him — I fear thy father 

— I grieve to say it, Janet — but I fear thy father, 
and, worst of all, this odious Varney. I will escape 
from Cumnor.” 

“ Alas ! madam, whither would you fly, or by 
what means will you escape from these walls ? ” 

“I know not, Janet,” said the unfortunate young 
lady, looking upwards, and clasping her hands to- 
gether, “ I know not where I shall fly, or by what 
means ; but I am certain the God I have served 
will not abandon me in this dreadful crisis, for I am 
in the hands of wicked men.” 

“ Do not think so, dear lady,” said Janet ; “ my 
father is stern and strict in his temper, and severely 
true to his trust — ^ but yet ” 

At this moment, Anthony Foster entered the 
apartment, bearing in his hand a glass cup, and a 
small flask. His manner was singular ; for, while 
approaching the Countess with the respect due to 
her rank, he had till this time suffered to become 
visible, or had been unable to suppress, the obdu- 
rate sulkiness of his natural disposition, which, as is 
usual with those of his unhappy temper, was chiefly 
exerted towards those over whom circumstances 
gave him control. But at present he showed nothing 


72 


KENILWORTH. 


of that sullen consciousness of authority which he 
was wont to conceal under a clumsy affectation of 
civility and deference, as a ruffian hides his pistols 
and bludgeon under his ill-fashioned gaberdine. 
And yet it seemed as if his smile was more in fear 
than courtesy, and as if, while he pressed the Coun- 
tess to taste of the choice cordial, which should refresh 
her spirits after her late alarm, he was conscious of 
meditating some farther injury. His hand trembled 
also, his voice faltered, and his whole outward beha- 
viour exhibited so much that was suspicious, that his 
daughter Janet, after she had stood looking at him 
in astonishment for some seconds, seemed - at once 
to collect herself to execute some hardy resolution, 
raised her head, assumed an attitude and gait of 
determination and authority, and walking slowly 
betwixt her father and her mistress, took the salver 
from the hand of the former, and said in a low, but 
marked and decided tone, “ Father, I will fill for my 
noble mistress, when such is her pleasure/’ 

“Thou, my child?” said Foster, eagerly and 
apprehensively ; “ no, my child — it is not thou 
shalt render the lady this service.” 

“ And why, I pray you,” said Janet, “ if it be 
fitting that the noble lady should partake of the 
cup at all ? ” 

“ Why — why ? ” said the seneschal, hesitating, 
and then bursting into passion as the readiest mode 
of supplying the lack of all other reason — “ Why, 
because it is my pleasure, minion, that you should 
not ! — Get you gone to the evening lecture.” 

“ Now, as I hope to hear lecture again,” replied 
J anet, “ I will not go thither this night, unless I 
am better assured of my mistress’s safety. Give 
me that flask, father;” — and she took it from his 


KENILWORTfi. 


75 


reluctant hand, while he resigned it as if conscience- 
struck — “ And now,” she said, “ father, that which 
shall benefit my mistress, cannot do me prejudice. 
Father, I drink to you.” 

Foster, without speaking a word, rushed on his 
daughter, and wrested the flask from her hand 
then, as if embarrassed by what he had done, and 
totally unable to resolve what he should do next, 
he stood with it in his hand, one foot advanced and 
the other drawn back, glaring on his daughter with 
a countenance, in which rage, fear, and convicted 
villainy, formed a hideous combination. 

“ This is strange, my father,” said Janet, keeping 
her eye fixed on his, in the manner in which those 
who have the charge of lunatics are said to over- 
awe their unhappy patients ; “ will you neither let 
me serve my lady, nor drink to her myself ? ” 

The courage of the Countess sustained her through 
this dreadful scene, of which the import was not the 
less obvious that it was not even hinted at. She 
preserved even the rash carelessness of her temper, 
and though her cheek had grown pale at the first 
alarm, her eye was calm and almost scornful. 
“ Will you taste this rare cordial, Master Foster ? 
Perhaps you will not yourself refuse to pledge us, 
though you permit not Janet to do so — Drink, sir, 
I pray you.” 

“I will not,” answered Foster. 

“And for whom, then, is the precious beverage 
reserved, sir?” said the Countess. 

“ For the devil, who brewed it ! ” answered Fos- 
ter ; and, turning on his heel, he left the chamber. 

Janet looked at her mistress with a countenance 
expressive in the highest degree of shame, dismay, 
and sorrow. 


74 


KENILWORTH. 


“ Do not weep for me, J anet,” said the Countess, 
kindly. 

“ No, madam,” replied her attendant, in a voice 
broken by sobs, “ it is not for you I weep, it is for 
myself, — it is for that unhappy man. Those who 
are dishonoured before man — those who are con- 
demned by God, have cause to mourn — not those 
who are innocent ! — Farewell, madam ! ” she said, 
hastily assuming the mantle in which she was wont 
to go abroad. 

“Do you leave me, Janet ? ” said her mistress — 
“ desert me in such an evil strait ? ” 

“ Desert you, madam ! ” exclaimed Janet ; and, run- 
ning back to her mistress, she imprinted a thousand 
kisses on her hand — “ desert you ! — may the Hope 
of my trust desert me when I do so ! — No, madam ; 
well you said the God you serve will open you a path 
for deliverance. There is a way of escape ; I have 
prayed night and day for light, that I might see how 
to act betwixt my duty to yonder unhappy man, and 
that which I owe to you. Sternly and fearfully 
that light has now dawned, and I must not shut the 
door which God opens. — Ask me no more — I will 
return in brief space.” 

So speaking, she wrapped herself in her mantle, 
and saying to the old woman whom she passed in 
the outer-room, that she was going to evening prayer, 
she left the house. 

Meanwhile her father had reached once more the 
laboratory, where he found the accomplices of his 
intended guilt. 

“ Has the sweet bird sipped ? ” said Varney, with 
half a smile ; while the astrologer put the same ques- 
tion with his eyes, but spoke not a word. 

“ She has not, nor she shall not from my hands/' 


KENILWOKTH. 


75 


replied Foster ; “ would you have me do murder in 
my daughter’s presence ? ” 

“Wert thou not told, thou sullen and yet faint- 
hearted slave,” answered Varney, with bitterness, 
“ that no murder , as thou call’st it, with that staring 
look and stammering tone, is designed in the mat- 
ter ? Wert thou not told, that a brief illness, such 
as woman puts on in very wantonness, that she may 
wear her night-gear at noon, and lie on a settle when 
she should mind her domestic business, is all here 
aimed at ? Here is a learned man will swear it to 
thee, by the key of the Castle of Wisdom.” 

“ I swear it,” said Alasco, “ that the elixir thou hast 
there in the flask will not prejudice life ! I swear 
it by that immortal and indestructible quintessence 
of gold, which pervades every substance in nature, 
though its secret existence can be traced by him 
only, to whom Trismegistus renders the key of the 
Cabala.” 

“An oath of force,” said Varney. “ Foster, thou 
wert worse than a pagan to disbelieve it. Believe 
me, moreover, who swear by nothing but by my own 
word, that if you be not conformable, there is no 
hope, no, not a glimpse of hope, that this thy lease- 
hold may be transmuted into a copyhold. Thus, 
Alasco will leave your pewter artillery untransmi- 
grated, and I, honest Anthony, will still have thee 
for my tenant.” 

“ I know not, gentlemen,” said Foster, “ where your 
designs tend to; but in one thing I am bound up, — 
that, fall back fall edge, I will have one in this place 
that may pray for me, and that one shall be my 
daughter. I have lived ill, and the world has been 
too weighty with me ; but she is as innocent as ever 
she was when on her mother’s lap. and she, at least, 


76 


KENILWORTH. 


shall have her portion in that happy City, whose 
walls are of pure gold, and the foundations garnished 
with all manner of precious stones.” 

“ Ay, Tony,” said Varney, “ that were a paradise to 
thy heart’s content. — Debate the matter with him, 
Doctor Alasco ; I will be with you anon.” 

So speaking, Varney arose, and, taking the flask 
from the table, he left the room. 

“I tell thee, my son,” said Alasco to Foster, as 
soon as Varney had left them, “ that whatever this 
bold and profligate railer may say of the mighty 
science, in which, by Heaven’s blessing, I have ad- 
vanced so far, that I would not call the wisest of 
living artists my better or my teacher — I say, how- 
soever yonder reprobate may scoff at things too holy 
to be apprehended by men merely of carnal and evil 
thoughts, yet believe, that the city beheld by St. 
John, in that bright vision of the Christian Apoca- 
lypse, that Hew Jerusalem, of which all Christian 
men hope to partake, sets forth typically the dis- 
covery of the Grand Secret, whereby the most 
precious and perfect of nature’s works are elicited 
out of her basest and most crude productions ; just 
as the light and gaudy butterfly, the most beautiful 
child of the summer’s breeze, breaks forth from the 
dungeon of a sordid chrysalis.” 

“ Master Holdforth said nought of this expo- 
sition,” said Foster, doubtfully; “and moreover, 
Doctor Alasco, the Holy Writ says, that the gold 
and precious stones of the Holy City are in no 
sort for those who work abomination, or who frame 
lies.” 

“ Well, my son,” said the Doctor, “ and what is your 
inference from thence ? ” 

“ That those,” said Foster, “ who distil poisons, and 


KENILWORTH. 


77 


administer them in secrecy, can have no portion in 
those unspeakable riches.” 

“ You are to distinguish, my son,” replied the al- 
chymist, “ betwixt that which is necessarily evil in 
its progress and in its end also, and that which, be- 
ing evil, is, nevertheless, capable of working forth 
good. If, by the death of one person, the happy 
period shall be brought nearer to us, in which all 
that is good shall be attained, by wishing its pre- 
sence-all that is evil escaped, by desiring its absence 

— in which sickness, and pain, and sorrow, shall be 
the obedient servants of human wisdom, and made 
to fly at the slightest signal of a sage, — in which 
that which is now richest and rarest shall be 
within the compass of every one who shall be obe- 
dient to the voice of wisdom, — when the art of heal- 
ing shall be lost and absorbed in the one universal 
medicine, — when sages shall become monarchs of 
the earth, and death itself retreat before their frown, 

— if this blessed consummation of all things can 
be hastened by the slight circumstance, that a 
frail earthly body, which must needs partake cor- 
ruption, shall be consigned to the grave a short 
space earlier than in the course of nature, what 
is such a sacrifice to the advancement of the holy 
Millennium ? ” 

“ Millennium is the reign of the Saints,’ ” — said 
Foster, somewhat doubtfully. 

“ Say it is the reign of the Sages, my son,” an- 
swered Alasco ; “ or rather the reign of Wisdom 
itself.” 

“ I touched on the question with Master Holdforth 
last exercising night,” said Foster; “but he says 
your doctrine is heterodox, and a damnable and false 
exposition.” 


78 


KENILWORTH. 


“He is in the bonds of ignorance, my son,” an- 
swered Alasco, “ and as yet burning bricks in Egypt ; 
or, at best, wandering in the dry desert of Sinai. 
Thou didst ill to speak to such a man of such matters. 
I will, however, give thee proof, and that shortly, 
which I will defy that peevish divine to confute, 
though he should strive with me as the magicians 
strove with Moses before King Pharaoh. I will do 
projection in thy presence, my son, — in thy very 
presence, — and thine eyes shall witness the truth.” 

“ Stick to that, learned sage,” said Yarney, who at 
this moment entered the apartment ; “ if he refuse 
the testimony of thy tongue, yet how shall he deny 
that of his own eyes ? ” 

“ Yarney ! ” said the adept — “ Yarney already re- 
turned ! Hast thou ” he stopped short. 

“ Have I done mine errand, thou wouldst say,” re- 
plied Varney — “I have ! — And thou,” he added, 
showing more symptoms of interest than he had 
hitherto exhibited, “ art thou sure thou hast poured 
forth neither more nor less than the just measure ? ” 

“ Ay,” replied the alchymist, “ as sure as men can 
be in these nice proportions ; for there is diversity of 
constitutions.” 

“ Nay, then,” said Yarney, “ I fear nothing. I 
know thou wilt not go a step farther to the devil than 
thou art justly considered for. Thou wert paid to 
create illness, and wouldst esteem it thriftless pro- 
digality to do murder at the same price. Come, let 
us each to our chamber — We shall see the event 
to-morrow.” 

“ What didst thou do to make her swallow it ? ” 
said Foster, shuddering. 

“ Nothing,” answered Yarney, “but looked on her 
with that aspect which governs madmen, women, 


KENILWORTH. 


79 


and children. They told me, in Saint Luke’s Hos- 
pital, that I have the right look for overpowering 
a refractory patient. The keepers made me their 
compliments on’t ; so I know how to win my bread, 
when my court-favour fails me.” 

“ And art thou not afraid,” said Foster, “ lest the 
dose be disproportioned ? ” 

“If so,” replied Varney, “she will but sleep the 
sounder, and the fear of that shall not break my rest. 
Good night, my masters.” 

Anthony Foster groaned heavily, and lifted up his 
hands and eyes. The alchymist intimated his pur- 
pose to continue some experiment of high import 
during the greater part of the night, and the others 
separated to their places of repose. 


CHAPTER VI. 


Now God be good to me in this wide pilgrimage l 
All hope in human aid I cast behind me. 

Oh, who would be a woman ? — who that fool, 

A weeping, pining, faithful, loving woman 1 

She hath hard measure still where she hopes kindest, 

And all her bounties <mly make ingrates. 

Love's Pilgrimage. 


The summer evening was closed, and Janet, just 
when her longer stay might have occasioned suspi- 
cion and enquiry in that jealous household, returned 
to Cumnor-Place, and hastened to the apartment in 
which she had left her lady. She found her with 
her head resting on her arms, and these crossed upon 
a table which stood before her. As Janet came in, 
she neither looked up nor stirred. 

Her faithful attendant ran to her mistress with 
the speed of lightning, and rousing her at the same 
time with her hand, conjured the Oountess, in the 
most earnest manner, to look up, and say what thus 
affected her. The unhappy lady raised her head 
accordingly, and looking on her attendant with a 
ghastly eye, and cheek as pale as clay, “ Janet/' she 
said, “ I have drank it.” 

“ God be praised! ” said Janet hastily — “I mean 
God be praised that it is no worse — the potion will 
not harm you. — Eise, shake this lethargy from your 
limbs, and this despair from your mind.” 


KENILWORTH. 


81 


"Janet,” repeated the Countess again, “ disturb ine 
not — leave me at peace — let life pass quietly — I 
am poisoned.” 

“ You are not, my dearest lady,” answered the 
maiden eagerly — “ What you have swallowed can- 
not injure you, for the antidote has been taken 
before it, and I hastened hither to tell you that 
the means of escape are open to you.” 

“ Escape ! ” exclaimed the lady, as she raised her- 
self hastily in her chair, while light returned to her 
eye and life to her cheek ; “ but ah ! Janet, it comes 
too late.” 

“ Not so, dearest lady — Rise, take mine arm, walk 
through -the apartment — Let not fancy do the work 
of poison ! — So ; feel you not now that you are 
possessed of the full use of your limbs ? ” 

“ The torpor seems to diminish,” said the Countess, 
as, supported by Janet, she walked to and fro in the 
apartment ; “ but is it then so, and have I not swal- 
lowed a deadly draught ? Varney was here since 
thou wert gone, and commanded me, with eyes in 
which I read my fate, to swallow yon horrible drug. 
O, Janet ! it must be fatal ; never was harmless 
draught served by such a cup-bearer ! ” 

“ He did not deem it harmless, I fear,” replied the 
maiden; "but God confounds the devices of the 
wicked. Believe me, as I swear by the dear Gospel 
in which we trust, your life is safe from his practice. 
Did you not debate with him ? ” 

“ The house was silent,” answered the lady — 
“ thou gone — no other but he in the chamber — and 
he capable of every crime. I did but stipulate he 
would remove his hateful presence, and I drank 
whatever he offered. — But you spoke of escape, 
Janet ; can I be so happy ? ” 


82 


KENILWORTH. 


“ Are you strong enough to bear the tidings, and 
make the effort ? ” said the maiden. 

“ Strong ! ” answered the Countess — “ Ask the 
hind, when the fangs of the deer-hound are stretched 
to gripe her, if she is strong enough to spring over a 
chasm. I am equal to every effort that may relieve 
me from this place.” 

“ Hear me, then,” said Janet. “ One, whom I deem 
an assured friend of yours, has shown himself to me 
in various disguises, and sought speech of me, which 
— for my mind was not clear on the matter until this 
evening — I have ever declined. He was the pedlar 
who brought you goods — the itinerant hawker who 
sold me books — whenever I stirred abroad I was 
sure to see him. The event of this night determined 
me to speak with him. He waits even now at the 
postern-gate of the park with means for your flight. — 
But have you strength of body ? — Have you courage 
of mind ? — Can you undertake the enterprise ? ” 

“ She that flies from death,” said the lady, “ finds 
strength of body — she that would escape from 
shame, lacks no strength of mind. The thoughts of 
leaving behind me the villain who menaces both my 
life and honour, would give me strength to rise from 
my deathbed.” 

“ In God’s name, then, lady,” said Janet, “ I must 
bid you adieu, and to God’s charge I must commit 
you ! ” 

“Will you not fly with me, then, Janet?” said 
the Countess, anxiously — “ Am I to lose thee ? Is 
this thy faithful service ? ” 

“ Lady, I would fly with you as willingly as bird 
ever fled from cage, but my doing so would occa- 
sion instant discovery and pursuit. I must remain, 
and use means to disguise the truth for some time 


KENILWORTH. 83 

— May Heaven pardon the falsehood, because of the 
necessity ! ” 

“And am I then to travel alone with this stran- 
ger ? ” said the lady — “ Bethink thee, Janet, may 
not this prove some deeper and darker scheme, to 
separate me perhaps from you, who are my only 
friend ? ” 

“No, madam, do not suppose it,” answered Janet, 
readily; “the youth is an honest youth in his pur- 
pose to you ; and a friend to Master Tressilian, 
under whose direction he is come hither.” 

“ If he be a friend of Tressilian,” said the Coun- 
tess, “ I will cotnmit myself to his charge as to that 
of an angel sent from heaven ; for than Tressilian, 
never breathed mortal man more free of whatever 
was base, false, or selfish. He forgot himself when- 
ever he could be of use to others — Alas ! and how 
was he requited ! ” 

With eager haste they collected the few necessaries 
which it was thought proper the Countess should 
take with her, and which Janet, with speed and 
dexterity, formed into a small bundle, not forgetting 
to add such ornaments of intrinsic value as came 
most readily in her way, and particularly a casket 
of jewels, which she wisely judged might prove of 
service in some future emergency. The Countess 
of Leicester next changed her dress for one which 
Janet usually wore upon any brief journey, for they 
judged it necessary to avoid every external distinc- 
tion which might attract notice. Ere these prepa- 
rations were fully made, the moon had arisen in 
the summer heaven, and all in the mansion had be- 
taken themselves to rest, or at least to the silence 
and retirement of their chambers. 

There was no difficulty anticipated in escaping 


84 


KENILWORTH. 


whether from the house or garden, provided only 
they could elude observation. Anthony Foster had 
accustomed himself to consider his daughter as a con- 
scious sinner might regard a visible guardian angel, 
which, notwithstanding his guilt, continued to hover 
around him, and therefore his trust in her knew no 
bounds. Janet commanded her own motions during 
the daytime, and had a master-key which opened 
the postern-door of the park, so that she could go 
to the village at pleasure, either upon the household 
affairs, which were entirely confided to her manage- 
ment, or to attend her devotions at the meeting- 
house of her sect. It is true, the daughter of Fos- 
ter was thus liberally intrusted, under the solemn 
condition that she should not avail herself of these 
privileges, to do any thing inconsistent with the safe- 
keeping of the Countess; for so her residence at 
Cumnor-Place had been termed, since she began of 
late to exhibit impatience of the restrictions to which 
she was subjected. Nor is there reason to suppose, 
that any thing short of the dreadful suspicions which 
the scene of that evening had fcxcited, could have 
induced Janet to violate her word, or deceive her 
father’s confidence. But from what she had wit- 
nessed, she now conceived herself not only justified, 
but imperatively called upon, to make her lady’s 
safety the principal object of her care, setting all 
other considerations aside. 

The fugitive Countess with her guide traversed 
with hasty steps the broken and interrupted path, 
which had once been an avenue, now totally dark- 
ened by the boughs of spreading trees which met 
above their head, and now receiving a doubtful and 
deceiving light from the beams of the moon, which 
penetrated where the axe had made openings in the 


KENILWORTH. 


wood. Their path was repeatedly interrupted by 
felled trees, or the large boughs which had been 
left on the ground till time served to make them 
into fagots and billets. The inconvenience and diffi- 
culty attending these interruptions, the breathless 
haste of the first part of their route, the exhausting 
sensations of hope and fear, so much affected the 
Countess’s strength, that Janet was forced to pro- 
pose that they should pause for a few minutes to re- 
cover breath and spirits. Both therefore stood still 
beneath the shadow of a huge old gnarled oak-tree, 
and both naturally looked back to the mansion which 
they had left behind them, whose long dark front 
was seen in the gloomy distance, with its huge stacks 
of chimneys, turrets, and clock-house, rising above 
the line of the roof, and definedly visible against the 
pure azure blue of the summer sky. One light only 
twinkled from the extended and shadowy mass, and 
it was placed so low, that it rather seemed to glim- 
mer from the ground in front of the mansion, than 
from one of the windows. The Countess’s terror was 
awakened. — “ They follow us ! ” she said, pointing 
out to Janet the light which thus alarmed her. 

Less agitated than her mistress, Janet perceived 
that the gleam was stationary, and informed the 
Countess, in a whisper, that the light proceeded from 
the solitary cell in which the alchymist pursued his 
occult experiments. — “ He is of those,” she added, 
“ who sit up and watch by night that they may com- 
mit iniquity. Evil was the chance which sent hither 
a man, whose mixed speech of earthly wealth and 
unearthly or superhuman knowledge, hath in it what 
does so especially captivate my poor father. Well 
spoke the good Master Holdforth — and, methought, 
not without meaning that those of our household 


86 


KENILWORTH. 


should find therein a practical use. ‘There be 
those,’ he said, ‘and their number is legion, who 
will rather, like the wicked Ahab, listen to the 
dreams of the false prophet Zedekiah, than to the 
words of him by whom the Lord has spoken.’ And 
he further insisted — ‘Ah, my brethren, there be 
many Zedekiahs among you — men that promise you 
the light of their carnal knowledge, so you will sur- 
render to them that of your heavenly understanding. 
What are they better than the tyrant Naas, who 
demanded the right eye of those who were subjected 

to him ? ’ And farther he insisted ” 

It is uncertain how long the fair puritan’s memory 
might have supported her in the recapitulation of 
Master Holdforth’s discourse ; but the Countess 
interrupted her, and assured her she was so much 
recovered that she could now reach the postern 
without the necessity of a second delay. 

They set out accordingly, and performed the second 
part of their journey with more deliberation, and of 
course more easily, than the first hasty commence- 
ment. This gave them leisure for reflection ; and 
Janet now, for the first time, ventured to ask her 
lady which way she proposed to direct her flight. 
Receiving no immediate answer, — for, perhaps, in 
the confusion of her mind, this very obvious subject 
of deliberation had not occurred to the Countess, — 
Janet ventured to add, “ Probably to your father’s 
house, where you are sure of safety and protection ? ” 
“No, Janet,” said the lady, mournfully, “I left 
Lidcote-Hall while my heart was light and my name 
was honourable, and I will not return thither till my 
lord’s permission and public acknowledgment of our 
marriage restore me to my native home, with all the 
rank and honour which he has bestowed on me.” 


KENILWORTH. 


8 ? 

“ And whither will you, then, madam ? ” said Janet. 

“ To Kenilworth, girl,” said the Countess, boldly • 
and freely. “ I will see these revels — these princely 
revels — the preparation for which makes the land 
ring from side to side. Methinks, when the Queen 
of England feasts within my husband’s halls, the 
Countess of Leicester should be no unbeseeming 
guest.” 

“ I pray God you may be a welcome one ! ” said 
Janet, hastily. 

“You abuse my situation, Janet,” said the Coun- 
tess, angrily, “ and you forget your own.” 

“ I do neither, dearest madam,” said the sorrow- 
ful maiden ; “ but have you forgotten that the noble 
Earl has given such strict charges to keep your mar- 
riage secret, that he may preserve his court-favour ? 
and can you think that your sudden appearance at 
his castle, at such a juncture, and in such a presence, 
will be acceptable to him ? ” 

“ Thou thinkest 1 would disgrace him ? ” said the 
Countess ; — “ nay, let go my arm, I can walk with- 
out aid, and work without counsel.” 

“ Be not angry with me, lady,” said Janet, meekly, 
“ and let me still support you ; the road is rough, 
and you are little accustomed to walk in darkness.” 

“ If you deem me not so mean as may disgrace 
my husband,” said the Countess, in the same resent- 
ful tone, “ you suppose my Lord of Leicester capable 
of abetting, perhaps of giving aim and authority to, 
the base proceedings of your father and Varney, 
whose errand I will do to the good Earl.” 

“ For God’s sake, madam, spare my father in your 
report,” said Janet ; “ let my services, however poor, 
be some atonement for his errors ! ” 

“ I were most unjust, dearest Janet, were it other- 


KENILWORTH. 


wise,” said the Countess, resuming at once the fond- 
ness and confidence of her manner towards her 
faithful attendant. “ No, Janet, not a word of mine 
shall do your father prejudice. But thou seest, my 
love, I have no desire but to throw myself on my 
husband’s protection. I have left the abode he as- 
signed for me, because of the villainy of the persons 
by whom I was surrounded — but I will disobey his 
commands in no other particular. I will appeal to 
him alone — I will be protected by him alone — To 
no other, than at his pleasure, have I or will I com- 
municate the secret union which combines our hearts 
and our destinies. I will see him, and receive from 
his own lips the directions for my future conduct. 
Do not argue against my resolution, Janet ; you will 
only confirm me in it — And to own the truth, I am 
resolved to know my fate at once, and from my 
husband’s own mouth, and to seek him at Kenil- 
worth is the surest way to attain my purpose.” 

While Janet hastily revolved in her mind the 
difficulties and uncertainties attendant on the unfor- 
tunate lady’s situation, she was inclined to alter her 
first opinion, and to think, upon the whole, that since 
the Countess had withdrawn herself from the retreat 
in which she had bfeen placed by her husband, it 
was her first duty to repair to his presence, and 
possess him with the reasons of such conduct. She 
knew what importance the Earl attached to the con- 
cealment of their marriage, and could not but own, 
that by taking any step to make it public without 
his permission, the Countess would incur, in a high 
degree, the indignation of her husband. If she re- 
tired to her father’s house without an explicit avowal 
of her rank, her situation was likely greatly to pre- 
judice her character ; and if she made such an avowal, 


KENILWORTH. 


89 


it might occasion an irreconcilable breach with her 
husband. At Kenilworth, again, she might plead 
her cause with her husband himself, whom Janet, 
though distrusting him more than the Countess did, 
believed incapable of being accessary to the base 
and desperate means which his dependants, from 
whose power the lady was now escaping, might re- 
sort to, in order to stifle her complaints of the treat- 
ment she had received at their hands. But at the 
worst, and were the Earl himself to deny her jus- 
tice and protection, still at Kenilworth, if she chose 
to make her wrongs public, the Countess might have 
Tressilian for her advocate, and the Queen for her 
judge ; for so much Janet had learned in her short 
conference with Way land. She was, therefore, on 
the whole, reconciled to her lady’s proposal of go- 
ing towards Kenilworth, and so expressed herself ; 
recommending, however, to the Countess the ut- 
most caution in making her arrival known to her 
husband. 

“ Hast thou thyself been cautious, Janet ? ” said 
the Countess; “this guide, in whom^I must put my 
confidence, hast thou not intrusted to him the secret 
of my condition ? ” 

“From me he, has learned nothing,” said Janet; 
“ nor do I think that he knows more than what the 
public in general believe of your situation.” 

“ And what is that ? ” said the lady. 

“ That you left your father’s house — but I shall 
offend you again if I go on,” said Janet, interrupting 
herself. 

“ Kay, go on,” said the Countess ; “ I must learn to 
endure the evil report which my folly has brought 
upon me. They think, I suppose, that I have left 
my father’s house to follow lawless pleasure — It is 


90 


KENILWORTH. 


an error which will soon be removed, — indeed it 
shall, for I will live with spotless fame, or I shall 
cease to live. — I am accounted, then, the paramour 
of my Leicester ? ” 

“Most men say of Varney,” said Janet; “yet 
some call him only the convenient cloak of his mas- 
ter’s pleasures ; for reports of the profuse expense 
in garnishing yonder apartments have secretly gone 
abroad, and such doings far surpass the means of 
Varney. But this latter opinion is little prevalent; 
for men dare hardly even hint suspicion when so 
high a name is concerned, lest the Star-chamber 
should punish them for scandal of the nobility.” 

“ They do well to speak low,” said the Countess, 
“ who would mention the illustrious Dudley as the 
accomplice of such a wretch as Varney. — We have 
reached the postern — Ah ! Janet, I must bid thee 
farewell ! — Weep not, my good girl,” said she, en- 
deavouring to cover her own reluctance to part with 
her faithful attendant under an attempt at playful- 
ness, “ and against we meet again, reform me, Janet, 
that precise ruff of thine for an open rabatine of 
lace and cut work, that will let men see thou hast 
a fair neck ; and that kirtle of Philippine chency, 
with that bugle lace which befits only a chamber- 
maid, into three-piled velvet and cloth of gold — 
thou wilt find plenty of stuffs in my chamber, and 
I freely bestow them on you. Thou must be brave, 
Janet; for though thou art now but the attend- 
ant of a distressed and errant lady, who is both 
nameless and fameless, yet, when we meet again, 
thou must be dressed as becomes the gentlewoman 
nearest in love and in service to the first Countess 
in England ! ” 

“ Now, may God grant it, dear lady ! ” said Janet ; 


KENILWORTH. 


9 1 


— “ not that I may go with gayer apparel, but that 
we may both wear our kirtles over lighter hearts.” 

By this time the lock of the postern-door had, 
after some hard wrenching, yielded to the master- 
key ; and the Countess, not without internal shud- 
dering, saw herself beyond the walls which her 
husband’s strict commands had assigned to her as 
the boundary of her walks. Waiting with much 
anxiety for their appearance, Way land Smith stood 
at some distance, shrouding himself behind a hedge 
which bordered the high-road. 

“Is all safe ? ” said Janet to him, anxiously, as 
he approached them with caution. 

“ All,” he replied ; “ but I have been unable to 
procure a horse for the lady. Giles Gosling, the 
cowardly hilding, refused me one on any terms 
whatever ; lest, forsooth, he should suffer — but no 
matter. She must ride on my palfrey, and I must 
walk by her side until I come by another horse. 
There will be no pursuit, if you, pretty Mistress 
Janet, forget not thy lesson.” 

“ No more than the wise widow of Tekoa forgot 
the words which Joab put into her mouth,” answered 
Janet. “ To-morrow, I say that my lady is unable 
to rise.” 

“Ay, and that she hath aching and heaviness of 
the head — a throbbing at the heart, and lists not to 
be disturbed. — Fear not ; they will take the hint, 
and trouble thee with few questions — they under- 
stand the disease.” 

“ But,” said the lady, “ my absence must be soon 
discovered, and they will murder her in revenge. — 
I will rather return than expose her to such danger.’ 

“Be at ease on my account, madam,” said Janet, 
“ I would you were as sure of receiving the favour 


92 


KENILWORTH. 


you desire from those to whom you must make 
appeal, as I am that my father, however angry, will 
suffer no harm to befall me.” 

The Countess was now placed by Wayland upon 
his horse, around the saddle of which he had placed 
his cloak, so folded as to make her a commodious 
seat. 

“ Adieu, and may the blessing of God wend with 
you ! ” said Janet, again kissing her mistress’s hand, 
who returned her benediction with a mute caress. 
They then tore themselves asunder, and Janet, 
addressing Wayland, exclaimed, “ May Heaven deal 
with you at your need, as you are true or false to 
this most injured and most helpless lady ! ” 

“Amen! dearest Janet,” replied Wayland; — 
“ and believe me, I will so acquit myself of my trust, 
as may tempt even your pretty eyes, saintlike as 
they are, to look less scornfully on me when we 
next meet.” 

The latter part of this adieu was whispered into 
Janet’s ear ; and, although she made no reply to it 
directly, yet her manner, influenced no doubt by her 
desire to leave every motive in force which could 
operate towards her mistress’s safety, did not dis- 
courage the hope which Way land’s words expressed. 
She re-entered the postern-door, and locked it be- 
hind her, while, Wayland takiug the horse’s bridle 
in his hand, and walking close by its head, they be- 
gan in silence their dubious and moonlight journey. 

Although Wayland Smith used the utmost dis- 
patch which he could make, yet this mode of tra- 
velling was so slow, that when morning began to 
dawn through the eastern mist, he found himself no 
farther than about ten miles distant from Cumnor. 
** Now, a plague upon all smooth-spoken hosts I ” 


KENILWORTH. 


93 

said Way land, unable longer to suppress his morti- 
fication and uneasiness. “ Had the false loon, Giles 
Gosling, but told me plainly two days since, that I 
was to reckon nought upon him, I had shifted bet- 
ter for myself. But your hosts have such a custom 
of promising whatever is called for, that it is not 
till the steed is to be shod you find they are out of 
iron. Had I but known, 1 could have made twenty 
shifts ; nay, for that matter, and in so good a cause, 
I would have thought little to have prigged a pran- 
cer from the next common — it had but been send- 
ing back the brute to the headborough. The farcy 
and the founders confound every horse in the 
stables of the Black Bear I ” 

The lady endeavoured to comfort her guide, ob- 
serving, that the dawn would enable him to make 
more speed. 

“ True, madam,” he replied ; “ but then it will 
enable other folk to take note of us, and that may 
prove an ill beginning of our journey. I had not 
cared a spark from anvil about the matter, had we 
been farther advanced on our way. But this Berk- 
shire has been notoriously haunted ever since I knew 
the country, with that sort of malicious elves, who 
sit up late and rise early, for no other purpose than 
to pry into other folk’s affairs. I have been endan- 
gered by them ere now. . But do not fear,” he added, 
“ good madam ; for wit, meeting with opportunity, 
will not miss to find a salve for every sore.” 

The alarms of her guide made more impression 
on the Countess’s mind than the comfort which he 
judged fit to administer along with it. She looked 
anxiously around her, and as the shadows withdrew 
from the landscape, and the heightening glow of the 
eastern sky promised the speedy rise of the sun, 


94 


KENILWORTH. 


expected at every turn that the increasing light 
would expose them to the view of the vengeful pur- 
suers, or present some dangerous and insurmountable 
obstacle to the prosecution of their journey. Way- 
land Smith perceived her uneasiness, and, displeased 
with himself for having given her cause of alarm, 
strode on with affected alacrity, now talking to the 
horse as one expert in the language of the stable, now 
whistling to himself low and interrupted snatches 
of tunes, and now assuring the lady there was no 
danger ; while at the same time he looked sharply 
around to see that there was nothing in sight, which 
might give the lie to his words while they were 
issuing from his mouth. Thus did they journey on, 
until an unexpected incident gave them the means 
of continuing their pilgrimage with more speed and 
convenience. 


CHAPTER VII. 


Richard. A horse ! — a horse ! — my kingdom for a horse ! 

Catesby. My lord, I’ll help you to a horse. 

Richard III. 


Our travellers were in the act of passing a small 
thicket of trees close by the roadside, when the first 
living being presented himself whom they had seen 
since their departure from Cumnor-Place. This was 
a stupid lout, seemingly a farmer’s boy, in a grey 
jerkin, with his head bare, his hose about his 
heels, and huge startups upon his feet. He held 
by the bridle what of all things they most wanted, 
a palfrey, namely, with a side-saddle, and all 
other garniture for a woman’s mounting ; and he 
hailed Way land Smith with, “ Zur, ye be zure the 
party ? ” 

“ Ay, that I be, my lad,” answered Wayland, 
without an instant’s hesitation ; and it must be 
owned that consciences, trained in a stricter school 
of morality, might have given way to an occasion so 
tempting. While he spoke, he caught the rein out 
of the boy’s hand, and almost at the same time 
helped down the Countess from his own horse, and 
aided her to mount on that which chance had thus 
presented for her acceptance. Indeed, so naturally 
did the whole take place, that the Countess, as it 
afterwards appeared, never suspected but that the 


96 KENILWORTH. 

horse had been placed there to meet them by the 
precaution of the guide, or some of his friends. 

The lad, however, who was thus hastily dispos- 
sessed of his charge, began to stare hard, and scratch 
his head, as if seized with some qualms of conscience 
for delivering up the animal on such brief explana- 
tion. — “ I be right zure thou be’st the party,” said 
he, muttering to himself, “ but thou shouldst ha zaid 
Beans , thou knaw’st.” 

“ Ay, ay,” said Way land, speaking at a venture ; 
“ and thou Bacon , thou know’st.” 

“ Noa, noa,” said the lad ; “ bide ye — bide ye — 
it was Peas a should ha said.” 

“Well, well,” answered Wayland, “peas be it, 
a God’s name ! though bacon were the better 
password.” 

And being by this time mounted on his own 
horse, he caught the rein of the palfrey from the 
uncertain hold of the hesitating young boor, flung 
him a small piece of money, and made amends for 
lost time by riding briskly off without farther par- 
ley. The lad was still visible from the hill up which 
they were riding, and Wayland, as he looked back, 
beheld him standing with his fingers in his hair as 
immovable as a guide-post, and his head turned in 
the direction in which they were escaping from him. 
At length, just as they topped the hill, he saw the 
clown stoop to lift up the silver groat which his 
benevolence had imparted. — “Now this is what I 
call a Godsend,” said Wayland ; “this is a bonny well- 
ridden bit of a going thing, and it will carry us so far 
till we get you as well mounted, and then we will send 
it back time enough to satisfy the Hue and Cry.” 

But he was deceived in his expectations ; and 
fate, which seemed at first to promise so fairly, soon 


KENILWORTH. 


97 


threatened to turn the incident, which he thus glo- 
ried in, into the cause of their utter ruin. 

They had not ridden a short mile from the place 
where they left the lad, before they heard a man’s 
voice shouting on the wind behind them, “ Robbery ! 
robbery ! — Stop thief ! ” and similar exclamations, 
which Way land’s conscience readily assured him 
must arise out of the transaction to which he had 
been just accessary. 

“ I had better have gone barefoot all my life,” 
he said ; “ it is the Hue and Cry, and I am a lost 
man. Ah ! Wayland, Wayland, many a time thy 
father said horse-flesh would be the death of thee. 
Were I once safe among the horse-coursers in Smith- 
field, or Turnball Street, they should have leave to 
hang me as high as St. Paul’s, if I e’er meddled more 
with nobles, knights, or gentlewomen ! ” 

Amidst these dismal reflections, he turned his 
head repeatedly to see by whom he was chased, and 
was much comforted when he could only discover a 
single rider, who was, however, well mounted, and 
came after them at a speed which left them no chance 
of escaping, even had the lady’s strength permitted 
her to ride as fast as her palfrey might have been 
able to gallop. 

“ There may be fair play betwixt us, sure,” thought 
Wayland, “where there is but one man on each 
side ; and yonder fellow sits on his horse more like 
a monkey than a cavalier. Pshaw ! if it come to the 
worst, it will be easy unhorsing him. Nay, ’snails ! 
I think his horse will take the matter in his own 
hand, for he has the bridle betwixt his teeth. Oons, 
what care I for him ? ” said he, as the pursuer drew 
yet nearer ; “ it is but the little animal of a mercer 
frcmi Abingdon, when all is over.” 


98 


KENILWORTH. 


Even so it was, as the experienced eye of Way< 
land had descried at a distance. For the valiant 
mercer’s horse, which was a beast of mettle, feeling 
himself put to his speed, and discerning a couple of 
horses riding fast, at some hundred yards’ distance 
before him, betQok himself to the road with such 
alacrity, as totally deranged the seat of his rider, 
who not only came up with, but passed, at full gal- 
lop, those whom he had been pursuing, pulling the 
reins with all his might, and ejaculating, “ Stop ! 
stop ! ” an interjection which seemed rather to re- 
gard his own palfrey, than what seamen call “ the 
chase.” With the same involuntary speed, he shot 
ahead (to use another nautical phrase) about a fur- 
long, ere he was able to stop and turn his horse, 
and then rode back towards our travellers, adjust- 
ing, as well as he could, his disordered dress, reset- 
tling himself in the saddle, and endeavouring to 
substitute a bold and martial frown, for the confu- 
sion and dismay which sate upon his visage during 
his involuntary career. 

Wayland had just time to caution the lady not to 
be alarmed, adding, “This fellow is a gull, and I 
will use him as such.” 

When the mercer had recovered breath and au- 
dacity enough to confront them, he ordered Way- 
land, in a menacing tone, to deliver up his palfrey. 

“ How ? ” said the smith, in King Cambyses’ vein, 
“are we commanded to stand and deliver on the 
King’s highway ? Then out, Excalibar, and tell this 
knight of prowess, that dire blows must decide be- 
tween us ! ” 

“Haro and help, and hue and cry, every true 
man ! ” said the mercer, “ I am withstood in seeking 
to recover mine own I ” 


KENILWORTH. 


99 


Thou swear’st thy gods in vain, foul paynim,” 
said Way land, “ for I will through with mine pur- 
pose, were death at the end on’t. Nevertheless, 
know, thou false man of frail cambric and ferrateen, 
that I am he, even the pedlar, whom thou didst 
boast to meet on Maiden-castle-mgor, and despoil 
of his pack ; wherefore betake thee to thy weapons 
presently.” 

“I spoke but in jest, man,” said Goldthred; “I 
am an honest shopkeeper and citizen, who scorns to 
leap forth on any man from behind a hedge.” 

“ Then, by my faith, most puissant mercer,” an- 
swered Way land, “I am sorry for my vow, which 
was, that wherever I met thee, I would despoil thee 
of thy palfrey, and bestow it upon my leman, un- 
less thou couldst defend it by blows of force. But 
the vow is passed and registered — and all I can do 
for thee, is to leave the horse at Donnington, in the 
nearest hostelry.” 

“ But I tell thee, friend,” said the mercer, “ it is 
the very horse on which I was this day to carry 
Jane Thackham, of Shottesbrok, as far as the par- 
ish-church yonder, to become Dame Goldthred. She 
hath jumped out of the shot-window of old Gaffer 
Thackham’s grange ; and lo ye, yonder she stands at 
the place where she should have met the palfrey, 
with her camlet riding-cloak, and ivory-handled 
whip, like a picture of Lot’s wife. I pray you, in 
good terms, let me have back the palfrey.” 

‘Grieved am I,” said Way land, “as much for 
the fair damsel, as for thee, most noble imp of 
muslin. But vows must have their course — thou 
wilt find the palfrey at the Angel yonder at Don- 
nington. It is all I may do for thee, with a safe 
conscience.” 


100 


KENILWORTH. 


“ To the devil with thy conscience ! ” said the dis- 
mayed mercer — “ Wouldst thou have a bride walk 
to church on foot ? ” 

“ Thou mayst take her on thy crupper, Sir Gold- 
thred,” answered Way land ; “ it will take down thy 
steed’s mettle.” , 

“ And how if you — if you forget to leave my 
horse, as you propose ? ” said Goldthred, not without 
hesitation, for his soul was afraid within him. 

“ My pack shall be pledged for it — yonder it 
lies with Giles Gosling, in his chamber with the 
damask’d leathern hangings, stuffed full with vel- 
vet, single, double, triple-piled — rash-taffeta, and 
parapa — shag, damask, and mocado, plush, and 
grogram ” 

“ Hold ! hold ! ” exclaimed the mercer ; “ nay, if 
there be, in truth and sincerity, but the half of these 
wares — but if ever I trust bumpkin with bonny 
Bayard again ! ” 

“As you list for that, good Master Goldthred, 
and so good morrow to you — and well parted,” he 
added, riding on cheerfully with the lady, while 
the discountenanced mercer rode back much slower 
than he came, pondering what excuse he should 
make to the disappointed bride, who stood waiting 
for her gallant groom in the midst of the king’s 
highway. 

“Methought,” said the lady, as they rode on, 
“yonder fool stared at me, as if he had some re- 
membrance of me ; yet I kept my muffler as high 
as I might.” 

“ If I thought so,” said Wayland, “ I would ride 
back, and cut him over the pate — there would be 
no fear of harming his brains, for he never had so 
much as would make pap to a sucking gosling. We 


KENILWORTH. 


IOI 


must now push on, however, and at Donnington we 
will leave the oaf’s horse, that he may have no 
farther temptation to pursue us, and endeavour to 
assume such a change of shape as may baffle his 
pursuit, if he should persevere in it.” 

The travellers reached Donnington without far- 
ther alarm, where it became matter of necessity 
that the Countess should enjoy two or three hours’ 
repose, during which Way land disposed himself, 
with equal address and alacrity, to carry through 
those measures on which the safety of their future 
journey seemed to depend. 

Exchanging his pedlar’s gaberdine for a smock- 
frock, he carried the palfrey of Goldthred to the 
Angel Inn, which was at the other end of the vil- 
lage from that where our travellers had taken up 
their quarters. In the progress of the morning, as 
he travelled about his other business, he saw the 
steed brought forth and delivered to the cutting 
mercer himself, who, at the head of a valorous 
posse of the Hue and Cry, came to rescue, by force 
of arms, what was delivered to him without any 
other ransom than the price of a huge quantity of 
ale, drunk out by his assistants, thirsty, it would 
seem, with their walk, and concerning the price of 
which Master Goldthred had a fierce dispute with 
the headborough, whom he had summoned to aid 
him in raising the country. 

Having made this act of prudent, as well as just 
restitution, Way land procured such change of 
apparel for the lady, as well as himself, as gave 
them both the appearance of country people of the 
better class ; it being farther resolved, that, in order 
to attract the less observation, she should pass upon 
the road for the sister of her guide. A good, but 


102 


KENILWORTH. 


not a gay horse, fit to keep pace with his own, and 
gentle enough for a lady’s use, completed the pre- 
parations for the journey ; for making which, and 
for other expenses, he had been furnished with suf- 
ficient funds by Tressilian. And thus, about noon, 
after the Countess had been refreshed by the sound 
repose of several hours, they resumed their journey, 
with the purpose of making the best of their way 
to Kenilworth, by Coventry and Warwick. They 
were not, however, destined to travel far, without 
meeting some cause of apprehension. 

It is necessary to premise, that the landlord of 
the inn had informed them, that a jovial party, in- 
tended, as he understood, to present some of the 
masques or mummeries, which made a part of the 
entertainment with which the Queen was usually 
welcomed on the royal Progresses, had left the vil- 
lage of Donnington an hour or two before them, 
in order to proceed to Kenilworth. Now it had 
occurred to Way land, that, by attaching themselves 
in some sort to this group, as soon as they should 
overtake them on the road, they would be less likely 
to attract notice, than if they continued to travel 
entirely by themselves. He communicated his idea 
to the Countess, who, only anxious to arrive at 
Kenilworth without interruption, left him free to 
choose the manner in which this was to be accom- 
plished. They pressed forward their horses, there- 
fore, with the purpose of overtaking the party of 
intended revellers, and making the journey in their 
company ; and had just seen the little party, con- 
sisting partly of riders, partly of people on foot, 
crossing the summit of a gentle hill, at about half 
a mile’s distance, and disappearing on the other side, 
when Way land, who maintained the most circum- 


KENILWORTH. 


103 


spect observation of all that met his eye in every 
direction, was aware that a rider was coming up 
behind them on a horse of uncommon action, ac- 
companied by a serving-man, whose utmost efforts 
were unable to keep up with his master’s trotting 
hackney, and who, therefore, was fain to follow him 
at a hand gallop. Wayland looked anxiously back 
at these horsemen, became considerably disturbed 
in his manner, looked back again, and became pale, 
as he said to the lady — “ That is Eichard Varney’s 
trotting gelding — I would know him among a thou- 
sand nags — this is a worse business than meeting 
the mercer.” 

“Draw your sword,” answered the lady, “and 
pierce my bosom with it, rather than I should fall 
into his hands ! ” 

“ I would rather by a thousand times,” answered 
Wayland, “ pass it through his body, or even mine 
own. But to say truth, fighting is not my best 
point, though I can look on cold iron like another, 
when needs must be. And, indeed, as for my sword, 
— (put on, I pray you) — it is a poor Provant rapier, 
and I warrant you he has a special Toledo. He 
has a serving-man, too, and I think it is the drunken 
ruffian Lambourne, upon the horse on which men 
say — (I pray you heartily to put on) — he did the 
great robbery of the west country grazier. It is 
not that I fear either Varney or Lambourne in a 
good cause — (your palfrey will go yet faster if you 
urge him) — But yet — (nay, I pray you let him not 
break off into the gallop, lest they should see we 
fear them, and give chase — keep him only at the 
full trot) — But yet, though I fear them not, I would 
we were well rid of them, and that rather by policy 
than by violence. Could we once reach the party 


104 


KENILWORTH. 


before us, we may herd among them, and pass un- 
observed, unless Varney be really come in express 
pursuit of us, and then, happy man be his dole ! ” 

While he thus spoke, he alternately urged and 
restrained his horse, desirous to maintain the fleetest 
pace that was consistent with the idea of an ordi- 
nary journey on the road, but to avoid such rapidity 
of movement as might give rise to suspicion that 
they were flying. 

At such a pace, they ascended the gentle hill we 
have mentioned, and, looking from the top, had the 
pleasure to see that the party which had left Don- 
nington before them, were in the little valley or 
bottom on the other side, where the road was tra- 
versed by a rivulet, beside which was a cottage or 
two. In this place they seemed to have made a 
pause, which gave Wayland the hope of joining 
them, and becoming a part of their company, ere 
Varney should overtake them. He was the more 
anxious, as his companion, though she made no com- 
plaints, and expressed no fear, began to look so 
deadly pale, that he was afraid she might drop from 
her horse. Notwithstanding this symptom of de- 
caying strength, she pushed on her palfrey so briskly, 
that they joined the party in the bottom of the 
valley, ere Varney appeared on the top of the gentle 
eminence which they had descended. 

They found the company to which they meant 
to associate themselves, in great disorder. The 
women, with dishevelled locks, and looks of great 
importance, ran in and out of one of the cottages, 
and the men stood around holding the horses, and 
looking silly enough, as is usual in cases where 
their assistance is not wanted. 

Wayland and his charge paused, as if out of 


KENILWORTH. 


i°5 


curiosity, and then gradually, without making 
any enquiries, or being asked any questions, they 
mingled with the group, as if they had always 
made part of it. 

They had not stood there above five minutes, 
anxiously keeping as much to the side of the road 
as possible, so as to place the other travellers be- 
twixt them and Yarney, when Lord Leicester’s 
master of the horse, followed by Lambourne, came 
riding fiercely down the hill, their horses’ flanks and 
the rowels of their spurs showing bloody tokens of 
the rate at which they travelled. The appearance 
of the stationary group around the cottages, wear- 
ing their buckram suits in order to protect their 
masquing dresses, having their light cart for trans- 
porting their scenery, and carrying various fantastic 
properties in their hands for the. more easy con- 
veyance, let the riders at once into the character 
and purpose of the company. 

“ You are revellers,”* said Yarney, “ designing 
for Kenilworth ? ” 

“ Recte quidem, Domine sjpectatissime ,” answered 
one of the party. 

“ And why the devil stand you here,” said Yarney, 
“ when your utmost dispatch will but bring you to 
Kenilworth in time ? The Queen dines at Warwick 
to-morrow, and you loiter here, ye knaves ! ” 

“ In very truth, sir,” said a little diminutive 
urchin, wearing a vizard with a couple of sprouting 
horns of an elegant scarlet hue, having moreover a 
black serge jerkin drawn close to his body by lacing, 
garnished with red stockings, and shoes so shaped 
as to resemble cloven feet, — “ In very truth, sir, and 
you are in the right on’t. It is my father the Devil, 
who, being taken in labour, has delayed our present 


io6 KENILWOHTH. 

purpose, by increasing our company with an imp 
too many.” 

“The devil he has!” answered Varney, whose 
laugh, however, never exceeded a sarcastic smile. 

“ It is even as the juvenal hath said,” added the 
masquer who spoke first ; “ our major devil — for 
this is but our minor one — is even now at Lucina 
fer opem, within that very tugurium.” 

“ By Saint George, or rather by the Dragon, who 
may be a kinsman of the fiend in the straw, a most 
comical chance !” said Varney. “ How sayst thou, 
Lambourne, wilt thou stand godfather for the nonce ? 
— if the devil were to choose a gossip, I know no 
one more fit for the office.” 

“ Saving always when my betters are in presence,” 
said Lambourne, with the civil impudence of a ser- 
vant who knows his services to be so indispensable, 
that his jest will be permitted to pass muster. 

“ And what is the nam$ of this devil or devil’s 
dam, who has timed her turns so strangely ? ” said 
Varney. “We can ill afford to spare any of our 
actors.” 

“ Gaudet nomine Sibylloe ,” said the first speaker, 
“ she is called Sibyl Laneham, wife of Master 
Bichard Laneham ” 

“Clerk to the Council-chamber door,” said Var- 
ney ; “ why, she is inexcusable, having had expe- 
rience how to have ordered her matters better. But 
who were those, a man and a woman, I think, who 
rode so hastily up the hill before me even now ? — 
do they belong to your company ? ” 

Way land was about to hazard a reply to this 
alarming enquiry, when the little diablotin again 
thrust in his oar. 

“ So please you,” he said, coming close up to 


KENILWORTH. 


167 


Varney, and speaking so as not to be overheard by 
his companions, “ the man was our devil major, who 
has tricks enough to supply the lack of a hundred 
such as Dame Laneliam ; and the woman — if you 
please, is the sage person whose assistance is most 
particularly necessary to our distressed comrade.” 

“ Oh, what, you have got the wise woman, then ? ” 
said Varney. “ Why, truly, she rode like one bound 
to a place where she was needed — And you have a 
spare limb of Satan, besides, to supply the place of 
Mistress Laneham ? ” 

“ Ay, sir,” said the boy, “ they are not so scarce 
in this world as your honour’s virtuous eminence 
would suppose — This master-fiend shall spit a few 
flashes of fire, and eruct a volume or two of smoke 
on the spot, if it will do you pleasure — you would 
think he had iEtna in his abdomen.” 

“ I lack time just now, most hopeful imp of dark- 
ness, to witness his performance,” said Varney ; 
“but here is something for you all to drink the 
lucky hour — and so, as the play says, ‘ God be with 
your labour ! ’ ” 

Thus speaking, he struck his horse with the spurs, 
and rode on his way. 

Lambourne tarried a moment or two behind his 
master, and rummaged his pouch for a piece of sil- 
ver, which he bestowed on the communicative imp, 
as he said, for his encouragement on his path to the 
infernal regions, some sparks of whose fire, he said, 
he could discover flashing from him already. Then 
having received the boy’s thanks for his generosity, 
he also spurred his horse, and rode after his master 
as fast as the fire flashes from flint. 

“And now,” said the wily imp, sideling close up 
to Wayland’s horse, and cutting a gambol in the air, 


io8 


KENILWORTH. 


which seemed to vindicate his title to relationship 
with the prince of that element, “ I have told them 
who you are, do you in return tell me who I am ? ” 

“ Either Flibbertigibbet,” answered Wayland 
Smith, “or else an imp of the devil in good 
earnest.” 

“ Thou hast hit it,” answered Dickie Sludge ; 
“ I am thine own Flibbertigibbet, man ; and I have 
broken forth of bounds, along with my learned pre- 
ceptor, as I told thee I would do, whether he would 
or not. — But what lady hast thou got with thee ? I 
saw thou wert at fault the first question was asked, 
and so I drew up for thy assistance. But I must 
know all who she is, dear Wayland.” 

“ Thou shalt know fifty finer things, my dear 
ingle,” said Wayland ; “ but a truce to thine enqui- 
ries just now ; and since you are bound for Kenil- 
worth, thither will I too, even for the love of thy 
sweet face and waggish company.” 

“ Thou shouldst have said my waggish face and 
sweet company,” said Dickie ; “ but how wilt thou 
travel with us — I mean in what character ? ” 

“ E’en in that thou hast assigned me, to be sure 
— as a juggler ; thou know’st I am used to the craft,” 
answered Wayland. 

“ Ay, but the lady ? ” answered Flibbertigibbet ; 
“credit me, I think she is one, and thou art in a sea 
of troubles about her at this moment, as I can 
perceive by thy fidgeting.” 

“ 0, she, man ! — she is a poor sister of mine,” said 
Wayland — “she can sing and play o’ the lute, 
would win the fish out o’ the stream.” 

“ Let me hear her instantly,” said the boy ; “ I 
love the lute rarely ; I love it of all things, though 
I never heard it.” 


KENILWORTH. 


109 


“ Then how canst thou love it, Flibbertigibbet ? * 
said Wayland. 

“As knights love ladies in old tales,” answered 
Dickie — “ on hearsay.” 

“ Then love it on hearsay a little longer, till my 
sister is recovered from the fatigue of her journey,” 
said Wayland; — muttering afterwards betwixt his 
teeth, “ The devil take the imp’s curiosity ! — I 
must keep fair weather with him, or we shall fare 
the worse.” 

He then proceeded to state to Master Holiday 
his own talents as a juggler, with those of his sister 
as a musician. Some proof of his dexterity was 
demanded, which he gave in such a style of excel- 
lence, that, delighted at obtaining such an accession 
to their party, they readily acquiesced in the apo- 
logy which he offered, when a display of his sister’s 
talents was required. The new-comers were invited 
to partake of the refreshments with which the party 
were provided ; and it was with some difficulty that 
Wayland Smith obtained an opportunity of being 
apart with his supposed sister during the meal, of 
which interval he availed himself to entreat her to 
forget for the present both her rank and her sorrows, 
and condescend, as the most probable chance of 
remaining concealed, to mix in the society of those 
with whom she was to travel. 

The Countess allowed the necessity of the case, 
and when they resumed their journey, endeavoured 
to comply with her guide’s advice, by addressing 
herself to a female near her, and expressing her con- 
cern for the woman whom they were thus obliged 
to leave behind them. 

“ O, she is well attended, madam,” replied the 
dame whom she addressed, who, from her jolly and 


IIO 


KENILWORTH. 


laughter-loving demeanour, might have been the 
very emblem of the Wife of Bath ; “ and my gos- 
sip Laneham thinks as little of these matters as any 
one. By the ninth day, an the revels last so long, 
we shall have her with us at Kenilworth, even if 
she should travel with her bantling on her back/’ 

There was something in this speech which took 
away all desire on the Countess of Leicester’s part 
to continue the conversation ; but having broken the 
charm by speaking to her fellow-traveller first, the 
good dame, who was to play Rare Gillian of Croy- 
don, in one of the interludes, took care that silence 
did not again settle on the journey, but entertained 
her mute companion with a thousand anecdotes of 
revels, from the days of King Harry downwards, 
with the reception given them by the great folk, 
and all the names of those who played the principal 
characters ; but ever concluding with “ they would 
be nothing to the princely pleasures of Kenilworth.” 

“ And when shall we reach Kenilworth ? ” said 
the Countess, with an agitation which she in vain 
attempted to conceal. 

“We that have horses may, with late riding, get 
to Warwick to-night, and Kenilworth may be dis- 
tant some four or five miles, — but then we must wait 
till the foot-people come up ; although it is like my 
good Lord of Leicester will have horses or light 
carriages to meet them, and bring them up without 
being travel-toiled, which last is no good prepara- 
tion, as you may suppose, for dancing before your 
betters — And yet, Lord help me, I have seen the 
day I would have tramped five leagues of lea-land, 
and turned on my toe the whole evening after, as 
a juggler spins a pewter platter on the point of a 
needle. But age has clawed me somewhat in his 


KENILWORTH. 


in 


clutch, as the song says ; though, if I like the tune 
and like my partner, I’ll dance the hays yet with 
any merry lass in Warwickshire, that writes that 
unhappy figure four with a round 0 after it.” 

If the Countess was overwhelmed with the gar- 
rulity of this good dame, Way land Smith, on his 
part, had enough to do to sustain and parry the 
constant attacks made upon him by the indefatigable 
curiosity of his old acquaintance, Richard Sludge. 
Nature had given that arch youngster a prying cast 
of disposition, which matched admirably with his 
sharp wit ; the former inducing him to plant him- 
self as a spy on other people’s affairs, and the latter 
quality leading him perpetually to interfere, after 
he had made himself master of that which concerned 
him not. He spent the livelong day in attempting 
to peer under the Countess’s muffler, and appa- 
rently what he could there discern greatly sharpened 
his curiosity. 

“That sister of thine, Wayland,” he said, “has 
a fair neck to have been born in a smithy, and a 
pretty taper hand to have been used for twirling a 
spindle — faith, I’ll believe in your relationship 
when the crow’s egg is hatched into a cygnet.” 

“ Go to,” said Wayland, “ thou art a prating boy, 
and should be breeched for thine assurance.” 

“ Well,” said the imp, drawing off, “ all I say is, 
— remember you have kept a secret from me, and 
if I give thee not a Rowland for thine Oliver, my 
name is not Dickon Sludge ! ” 

This threat, and the distance at which Hobgob- 
lin kept from him for the rest of the way, alarmed 
Wayland very much, and he suggested to his pre- 
tended sister, that, on pretext of weariness, she 
should express a desire to stop two or three miles 


1 12 


KENILWORTH. 


short of the fair town of Warwick, promising to 
rejoin the troop in the morning. A small village 
inn afforded them a resting place ; and it was with 
secret pleasure that Way land saw the whole party, 
including Dickon, pass on, after a courteous fare- 
well, and leave them behind. 

“ To-morrow, madam,” he said to his charge, 
“ we will, with your leave, again start early, and 
reach Kenilworth before the rout which are to 
assemble there.” 

The Countess gave assent to the proposal of her 
faithful guide ; but, somewhat to his surprise, said 
nothing farther on the subject, which left Way land 
under the disagreeable uncertainty whether or no 
she had formed any plan for her own future pro- 
ceedings, as he knew her situation demanded 
circumspection, although he was but imperfectly 
acquainted with all its peculiarities. Concluding, 
however, that she must have friends within the 
castle, whose advice and assistance she could safely 
trust, he supposed his task would be best accom- 
plished by conducting her thither in safety, agree- 
ably to her repeated commands. 


CHAPTER VIII 


Hark, the bells summon, and the bugle calls, 

But she the fairest answers not — the tide 
Of nobles and of ladies throngs the halls, 

But she the loveliest must in secret hide. 

What eyes were thine, proud Prince, which in the gleam 
Of yon gay meteors lost that better sense, 

That o’er the glow-worm doth the star esteem, 

And merit’s modest blush o’er courtly insolence ? 

The Glass Slipper 

The unfortunate Countess of Leicester had, from hei 
infancy upwards, been treated by those around her 
with indulgence as unbounded as injudicious. The 
natural sweetness of her disposition had saved her 
from becoming insolent and ill-humoured ; ' but the 
caprice which preferred the handsome and insinu- 
ating Leicester before Tressilian, of whose high 
honour and unalterable affection she herself enter- 
tained so firm an opinion — that fatal error, which 
ruined the happiness of her life, had its origin in 
the mistaken kindness that had spared her child- 
hood the painful, but most necessary lesson, of 
submission and self-command. From the same in- 
dulgence, it followed that she had only been accus- 
tomed to form and to express her wishes, leaving to 
others the task of fulfilling them; and thus, at the 
most momentous period of her life, she was alike des- 
titute of presence of mind, and of ability to form for 
herself any reasonable or prudent plan of conduct. 


”4 


KENILWORTH. 


These difficulties pressed on the unfortunate lady 
with overwhelming force, on the morning which 
seemed to be the crisis of her fate. Overlooking 
every intermediate consideration, she had only de- 
sired to be at Kenilworth, and to approach her hus- 
band’s presence ; and now, when she was in the 
vicinity of both, a thousand considerations arose at 
once upon her mind, startling her with accumulated 
doubts and dangers, some real, some imaginary, and 
all exalted and exaggerated by a situation alike 
helpless, and destitute of aid and counsel. 

A sleepless night rendered her so weak in the 
morning, that she was altogether unable to attend 
Wayland’s early summons. The trusty guide be- 
came extremely distressed on the lady’s account, 
and somewhat alarmed on his own, and was on the 
point of going alone to Kenilworth, in the hope of 
discovering Tressilian, and intimating to him the 
lady's approach, when about nine in the morning he 
was summoned to attend her. He found her dressed, 
and ready for resuming her journey, but with a pale- 
ness of countenance which alarmed him for her 
health. She intimated her desire that the horses 
might be got instantly ready, and resisted with im- 
patience her guide’s request, that she would take 
some refreshment before setting forward. “ I have 
had,” she said, “ a cup of water — the wretch who 
is dragged to execution needs no stronger cordial, 
and that may serve me which suffices for him — do 
as I command you.” Wayland Smith still hesitated. 
“ What would you have ? ” said she — “ Have I not 
spoken plainly ? ” 

“Yes, madam,” answered Wayland; “but may I 
ask what is your farther purpose ? — I only desire 
to know, that I may guide myself by your wishes. 


KENILWORTH. 


n$ 

The whole country is afloat, and streaming towards 
the Castle of Kenilworth. It will be difficult 
travelling thither, even if we had the necessary 
passports for safe-conduct and free-admittance — 
Unknown and unfriended, we may come by mishap. 
Your ladyship will forgive my speaking my poor 
mind — Were we not better try to find out the mas- 
quers, and again join ourselves with them ? ” — The 
Countess shook her head, and her guide proceeded, 
“ Then I see but one other remedy.” 

“ Speak out, then,” said the lady, not displeased, 
perhaps, that he should thus offer the advice which 
she was ashamed to ask ; “ I believe thee faithful — 
what wouldst thou counsel ? ” 

“That I should warn Master Tressilian,” said 
t Way land, “ that you are in this place. I am right 
certain he would get to horse with a few of 
Lord Sussex’s followers, and ensure your personal 
safety.” 

“ And is it to me you advise,” said the Countess, 
“to put myself under the protection of Sussex, the 
unworthy rival of the noble Leicester ? ’* Then, see- 
ing the surprise with which Way land stared upon 
her, and afraid of having too strongly intimated her 
interest in Leicester, she added, “ And for Tressilian, 
it must not be — mention not to him, I charge you, 
my unhappy name ; it would but double my mis- 
fortunes, and involve him in dangers beyond the 
power of rescue.” She paused ; but when she ob- 
served that Wayland continued to look on her with 
that anxious and uncertain gaze, which indicated a 
doubt whether her brain was settled, she assumed 
an air of composure, and added, “ Do thou but guide 
me to Kenilworth Castle, good fellow, and thy task 
is ended, since I will then judge what farther is to 


Ii6 


KENILWORTH. 


be done. Thou hast yet been true to me — here is 
something that will make thee rich amends.” 

She offered the artist a ring, containing a valuable 
stone. Way land looked at it, hesitated a moment, 
and then returned it. “ Not,” he said, “ that I am 
above your kindness, madam, being but a poor fel- 
low, who have been forced, God help me ! to live by 
worse shifts than the bounty of such a person as 
you. But, as my old master the farrier used to 
say to his customers, ‘ No cure no pay.’ We are not 
yet in Kenilworth Castle, and it is time enough to 
discharge your guide, as they say, when you take 
your boots off. I trust in God your ladyship is as 
well assured of fitting reception when you arrive, as 
you may hold yourself certain of my best endea- 
vours to conduct you thither safely. I go to get the 
horses; meantime, let me pray you once more, as 
your poor physician as well as guide, to take some 
sustenance.” 

“ I will — I will,” said the lady, hastily. “ Be- 
gone, begone instantly ! — it is in vain I assume 
audacity,” said she, when he left the room ; “ even 
this poor groom sees through my affectation of 
courage, and fathoms the very ground of my fears.” 

She then attempted to follow her guide's advice 
by taking some food, but was compelled to desist, 
as the effort to swallow even a single morsel gave 
her so much uneasiness as amounted wellnigh to 
suffocation. A moment afterwards the horses ap- 
peared at the latticed window — the lady mounted, 
and found that relief from the free air and change 
of place, which is frequently experienced in similar 
circumstances. 

It chanced well for the Countess's purpose that 
Wayland Smith, whose previous wandering and un« 


KENILWORTH. 


”7 

settled life had made him acquainted with almost 
all England, was intimate with all the by-roads, as 
well as direct communications, through the beauti- 
ful county of Warwick. For such and so great was 
the throng which flocked in all directions towards 
Kenilworth, to see the eutry of Elizabeth into that 
splendid mansion of her prime favourite, that the 
principal roads were actually blocked up and inter- 
rupted, and it was only by circuitous by-paths that 
the travellers could proceed on their journey. 

The Queen’s purveyors had been abroad, sweeping 
the farms and villages of those articles usually ex- 
acted during a royal Progress, and for which the 
owners were afterwards to obtain a tardy payment 
from the Board of Green Cloth. The Earl of Lei- 
cester’s household officers had been scouring the 
country for the same purpose ; and many of his 
friends and allies, both near and remote, took this 
opportunity of ingratiating themselves, by sending 
large quantities of provisions and delicacies of all 
kinds, with game in huge numbers, and whole tuns 
of the best liquors, foreign and domestic. Thus the 
high-roads were filled with droves of bullocks, sheep, 
calves, and hogs, and choked with loaded wains, 
whose axle-trees cracked under their burdens of 
wine-casks and hogsheads of ale, and huge hampers 
of grocery goods, and slaughtered game, and salted 
provisions, and sacks of flour. Perpetual stoppages 
took place as these wains became entangled ; and 
their rude drivers, swearing and brawling till their 
wild passions were fully raised, began to debate pre- 
cedence with their waggon-whips and quarter-staves, 
which occasional riots were usually quieted by a 
purveyor, deputy-marshal’s-man, or some other per- 
son in authority, breaking the heads of both parties 


KENILWORTH. 


118 

Here were, besides, players and mummers, jug- 
glers and showmen, of every description, traversing 
in joyous bands the paths which led to the Palace 
of Princely Pleasure ; for so the travelling minstrels 
had termed Kenilworth in the songs which already 
had come forth in anticipation of the revels which 
were there expected. In the midst of this motley 
show, mendicants were exhibiting their real or pre- 
tended miseries, forming a strange, though common, 
contrast betwixt the vanities and the sorrows of 
human existence. All these floated along with the 
immense tide of population, whom mere curiosity 
had drawn together ; and where the mechanic, in 
his leathern apron, elbowed the dink and dainty 
dame, his city mistress ; where clowns, with hob- 
nailed shoes, were treading on the kibes of substan- 
tial burghers and gentlemen of worship ; and where 
Joan of the dairy, with robust pace, and red sturdy 
arms, rowed her way onward, amongst those prim 
and pretty moppets, whose sires were knights and 
squires. 

The throng and confusion was, however, of a gay 
and cheerful character. All came forth to see and 
to enjoy, and all laughed at the trifling inconveni- 
ences which at another time might have chafed their 
temper. Excepting the occasional brawls which we 
have mentioned among that irritable race the car- 
men, the mingled sounds which arose from the mul- 
titude were those of light-hearted mirth, and tiptoe 
jollity. The musicians preluded on their instruments 
— the minstrels hummed their songs — the licensed 
jester whooped betwixt mirth and madness, as he 
brandished his bauble — the morrice-dancers jangled 
their bells — the rustics halloo’d and whistled — * 
men laughed aloud, and maidens giggled shrill ; while 


KENILWORTH. 




many a broad jest flew like a shuttlecock from one 
party, to be caught in the air and returned from the 
opposite side of the road by another, at which it was 
aimed. 

No infliction can be so distressing to a mind ab- 
sorbed in melancholy, as being plunged into a scene 
of mirth and revelry, forming an accompaniment so 
dissonant from its own feelings. Yet, in the case 
of the Countess of Leicester, the noise and tumult 
of this giddy scene distracted her thoughts, and 
rendered her this sad service, that it became impos- 
sible for her to brood on her own misery, or to form 
terrible anticipations of her approaching fate. She 
travelled on, like one in a dream, following impli- 
citly the guidance of Wayland, who, with great 
address, now threaded his way through the general 
throng of passengers, now stood still until a favour- 
able opportunity occurred of again moving forward, 
and frequently turning altogether out of the direct 
road, followed some circuitous by-path, which 
brought them into the highway again, after having 
given them the opportunity of traversing a consider- 
able way with greater ease and rapidity. 

It was thus he avoided Warwick, within whose 
Castle (that fairest monument of ancient and chi- 
valrous splendour which yet remains uninjured .by 
time) Elizabeth had passed the previous night, and 
where she was to tarry until past noon, at that time 
the general hour of dinner throughout England, 
after which repast she was to proceed to Kenilworth. 
In the meanwhile, each passing group had something 
to say in the Sovereign’s praise, though not abso- 
lutely without the usual mixture of satire which 
qualifies more or less our estimate of our neighbours, 
especially if they chance to be also our betters. 


120 


KENILWORTH. 


“Heard you,” said or^e, "how graciously she 
spoke to Master Bailiff and the Recorder, and to 
good Master Griffin the preacher, as they kneeled 
down at her coach- window ? ” 

“ Ay, and how she said to little Aglionby , 4 Master 
Recorder, men would have persuaded me that you 
were afraid of me, but truly I think, so well did you 
reckon up to me the virtues of a sovereign, that I 
have more reason to be afraid of you ’ — And then 
with what grace she took the fair-wrought purse 
with the twenty gold sovereigns, seeming as though 
she would not willingly handle it, and yet taking it 
withal.” 

“ Ay, ay,” said another, “ her fingers closed on 
it pretty willingly methought, when all was done ; 
and methought, too, she weighed them for a second 
in her hand, as she would say, I hope they be 
avoirdupois.” 

“ She needed not, neighbour,” said a third ; “ it 
is only when the corporation pay the accounts of a 
poor handicraft like me, that they put him off with 
dipt coin. — Well, there is a God above all — Little 
Master Recorder, since that is the word, will be 
greater now than ever.” 

“ Come, good neighbour,” said the first speaker, 
“ he not envious — She is a good Queen, and a gene- 
rous — She gave the purse to the Earl of Leicester.” 

“ I envious ? — beshrew thy heart for the word ! ” 
replied the handicraft — “ But she will give all to 
the Earl of Leicester anon, methinks.” 

“You are turning ill, lady,” said Wayland Smith 
to the Countess of Leicester, and proposed that she 
should draw off from the road, and halt till she re- 
covered. But, subduing her feelings at this, and 
different speeches to the same purpose, which caught 


KENILWORTH. 


121 


her ear as they passed on, she insisted that her guide 
.should proceed to Kenilworth with all the haste 
which the numerous impediments of their journey 
permitted. Meanwhile, Way land’s anxiety at her 
repeated fits of indisposition, and her obvious 
distraction of mind, was hourly increasing, and he 
became extremely desirous, that, according to her 
reiterated requests, she should be safely introduced 
into the Castle, where, he doubted not, she was se- 
cure of a kind reception, though she seemed unwill- 
ing to reveal on whom she reposed her hopes. 

“ An I were once rid of this peril,” thought he, 
“ and if any man shall find me playing squire of the 
body to a damosel -errant, he shall have leave to beat 
my brains out with my own sledge-hammer ! ” 

At length the princely Castle appeared, upon im- 
proving which, and the domains around, the Earl of 
Leicester had, it is said, expended sixty thousand 
pounds sterling, a sum equal to half a million of our 
present money. 

The outer wall of this splendid and gigantic 
structure enclosed seven acres, a part of which was 
occupied by extensive stables, and by a pleasure 
garden, with its trim arbours and parterres, and the 
rest formed the large base-court, or outer yard, of 
the noble Castle. The lordly structure itself, which 
rose near the centre of this spacious enclosure, was 
composed of a huge pile of magnificent castellated 
buildings, apparently of different ages, surrounding 
an inner court, and bearing, in the names attached 
to each portion of the magnificent mass, and in the 
armorial bearings which were there blazoned, the 
emblems of mighty chiefs who had long passed 
away, and whose history, could Ambition have lent 
ear to it, might have read a lesson to the haughty 


122 


KENILWORTH. 


favourite, who had now acquired and was augment- 
ing the fair domain. A large and massive Keep fc 
which formed the citadel of the Castle, was of un- 
certain though great antiquity. It bore the name 
of Csesar, perhaps from its resemblance to that in 
the Tower of London so called. Some antiquaries 
ascribe its foundation to the time of Kenelph, from 
whom the Castle had its name, a Saxon king of 
Mercia, and others to an early era after the Nor- 
man Conquest. On the exterior walls frowned the 
scutcheon of the Clintons, by whom they were 
founded in the reign of Henry I , and of the yet 
more redoubted Simon de Montfort, by whom, dur- 
ing the Barons’ wars, Kenilworth was long held out 
against Henry III. Here Mortimer, Earl of March, 
famous alike for his rise and his fall, had once 
gaily revelled in Kenilworth, while his dethroned 
sovereign, Edward II , languished in its dungeons. 
Old John of Gaunt, “time-honoured Lancaster,” 
had widely extended the Castle, erecting that noble 
and massive pile which yet bears the name of Lan- 
caster’s Buildings ; and Leicester himself had out- 
done the former possessors, princely and powerful 
as they were, by erecting another immense structure, 
which now lies crushed under its own ruins, the 
monument of its owner’s ambition. The external 
wall of this royal Castle was, on the south and west 
sides, adorned and defended by a lake partly artifi- 
cial, across which Leicester had constructed a stately 
bridge, that Elizabeth might enter the Castle by a 
path hitherto untrodden, instead of the usual en- 
trance to the northward, over which he had erected 
a gate-house, or barbican, which still exists, and is 
equal in extent, and superior in architecture, to the 
baronial castle of many a northern chief. 


KENILWORTH. 


123 


Beyond the lake lay an extensive chase, full of 
red deer, fallow deer, roes, and every species of 
game, and abounding with lofty trees, from amongst 
which the extended front and massive towers of the 
Castle were seen to rise in majesty and beauty. 
We cannot but add, that of this lordly palace, where 
princes feasted and heroes fought, now in the bloody 
earnest of storm and siege, and now in the games 
of chivalry, where beauty dealt the prize which 
valour won, all is now desolate. The bed of the 
lake is but a rushy swamp ; and the massive ruins 
of the Castle only serve to show what their splen- 
dour once was, and to impress on the musing visitor 
the transitory value of human possessions, and the 
happiness of those who enjoy a humble lot in vir- 
tuous contentment. 

It was with far different feelings that the unfor- 
tunate Countess of Leicester viewed those grey and 
massive towers, when she first beheld them rise 
above the embowering and richly shaded woods, 
over which they seemed to preside. She, the un- 
doubted wife of the great Earl, of Elizabeth’s minion, 
and England’s mighty favourite, was approaching 
the presence of her husband, and that husband’s 
sovereign, under the protection, rather than the 
guidance, of a poor juggler; and though unques- 
tioned Mistress of that proud Castle, whose lightest 
word ought to have had force sufficient to make its 
gates leap from their massive hinges to receive her, 
yet she could not conceal from herself the difficulty 
and peril which she must experience in gaining 
admission into her own halls. 

The risk and difficulty, indeed, seemed to increase 
every moment, and at length threatened altogether 
to put a stop to her farther progress, at the great 


124 


KENILWORTH. 


gate leading to a broad and fair road, which, trav- 
ersing the breadth of the chase for the space of 
two miles, and commanding several most beautiful 
views of the Castle and lake, terminated at the newly 
constructed bridge, to which it was an appendage, 
and which was destined to form the Queen’s approach 
to the Castle on that memorable occasion. 

Here the Countess and Wayland found the gate 
at the end of this avenue, which opened on the War- 
wick road, guarded by a body of the Queen’s mounted 
yeomen of the guard, armed in corslets richly carved 
and gilded, and wearing morions instead of bonnets, 
having their carabines resting with the but-end on 
their thighs. These guards, distinguished for 
strength and stature, who did duty wherever the 
Queen went in person, were here stationed under 
the direction of a pursuivant, graced with the Bear 
and Ragged Staff on his arm, as belonging to the 
Earl of Leicester, and peremptorily refused all ad- 
mittance, excepting to such as were guests invited 
to the festival, or persons who were to perform 
some part in the mirthful exhibitions which were 
proposed. 

The press was of consequence great around the 
entrance, and persons of all kinds presented every 
sort of plea for admittance ; to which the guards 
turned an inexorable ear, pleading, in return to fair 
words, and even to fair offers, the strictness of their 
orders, founded on the Queen’s well-known dislike 
to the rude pressing of a multitude. With those 
whom such reasons did not serve, they dealt more 
rudely, repelling them without ceremony by the 
pressure of their powerful barbed horses, and 
good round blows from the stock of their cara- 
bines. These last manoeuvres produced undulations 


KENILWORTH. 


125 


amongst the crowd, which rendered Wayland much 
afraid that he might perforce be separated from his 
charge in the throng. Neither did he know what 
excuse to make in order to obtain admittance, and 
he was debating the matter in his head with great 
uncertainty, when the Earl’s pursuivant, having cast 
an eye upon him, exclaimed, to his no small surprise, 
“ Yeomen, make room for the fellow in the orange- 
tawny cloak — Come forward, Sir Coxcomb, and 
make haste. What, in the fiend’s name, has kept 
you waiting? Come forward with your' bale of 
woman’s gear.” 

While the pursuivant gave Wayland this pressing 
yet uncourteous invitation, which, for a minute or 
two, he could not imagine was applied to him, the 
yeomen speedily made a free passage for him, while, 
only cautioning his companion to keep the muffler 
close around her face, he entered the gate leading 
her palfrey, but with such a drooping crest, and 
such a look of conscious fear and anxiety, that the 
crowd, not greatly pleased at any rate with the pre- 
ference bestowed upon them, accompanied their ad- 
mission with hooting, and a loud laugh of derision. 

Admitted thus within the chase, though with no 
very flattering notice or distinction, Wayland and 
his charge rode forward, musing what difficulties it 
would be next their lot to encounter, through the 
broad avenue, which was sentinelled on either side 
by a long line of retainers, armed with swords and 
partisans, richly dressed in the Earl of Leicester’s 
liveries, and bearing his cognizance of the Bear and 
Ragged Staff, each placed within three paces of his 
comrade, so as to line the whole road from the en- 
trance into the park to the bridge. And, indeed, 
when the lady obtained the first commanding view of 


126 


KENILWORTH 


the Castle, with its stately towers rising from within 
a long sweeping line of outward walls, ornamented 
with battlements, and turrets, and platforms, at 
every point of defence, with many a banner stream- 
ing from its walls, and such a bustle of gay crests, 
and waving plumes, disposed on the terraces and 
battlements, and all the gay and gorgeous scene, her 
heart, unaccustomed to such splendour, sank as if it 
died within her, and for a moment she asked her- 
self, what she had offered up to Leicester to deserve 
to, become the partner of this princely splendour. 
But her pride and generous spirit resisted the 
whisper which bade her despair. 

“ I have given him,” she said, “ all that woman 
has to give. Name and fame, heart and hand, have 
I given the lord of all this magnificence at the al- 
tar, and England’s Queen could give him no more. 
He is my husband — I am his wife — Whom God 
hath joined; man cannot sunder. I will be bold in 
claiming my right ; even the bolder, that I come 
thus unexpected, and thus forlorn. I know my 
noble Dudley well ! He will be something impa- 
tient at my disobeying him, but Amy will weep, 
and Dudley will forgive her.” 

These meditations were interrupted by a cry of 
surprise from her guide Way land, who suddenly 
felt himself grasped firmly round the body by a pair 
of long thin black arms, belonging to some one who 
had dropped himself out of an oak-tree, upon the 
croup of his horse, amidst the shouts of laughter 
which burst from the sentinels. 

“ This must be the devil, or Flibbertigibbet 
again !” said Wayland, after a vain struggle to dis- 
engage himself, and unhorse the urchin who clung 
to him ; “ Do Kenilworth oaks bear such acorns ? ” 


KMlLWORTH. 


t2f 

"In sooth do they, Master Wayland,” said his 
unexpected adjunct, “ and many others, too hard 
for you to crack, for as old as you are, without my 
teaching you. How would you have passed the 
pursuivant at the upper gate yonder, had Hot I 
warned him our principal juggler was to follow us ? 
and here have I waited for you, having clambered 
up into the tree from the top of our wain, and I 
suppose they are all mad for want of me by this 
time.” 

“ Nay, then, thou art a limb of the devil in good 
earnest,” said Wayland. “ I give thee way, good 
imp, and will walk by thy counsel ; only as thou 
art powerful, be merciful.” 

As he spoke, they approached a strong tower, at 
the south extremity of the long bridge we have 
mentioned, which served to protect the outer gate- 
way of the Castle of Kenilworth. 

Under such disastrous circumstances, and in such 
singular company, did the unfortunate Countess of 
Leicester approach, for the first time, the magnifi- 
cent abode of her almost princely husband. 


CHAPTER IX. 


Snug. Have you the lion’s part written ? pray you, if it be, 
give it me, for I am slow of study. 

Quince. You may do it extempore, for it is nothing but 
roaring. 

Midsummer-Night's Dream. 

When the Countess of Leicester arrived at the 
outer gate of the Castle of Kenilworth, she found the 
tower, beneath which its ample portal arch opened, 
guarded in a singular manner. Upon the battle- 
ments were placed gigantic warders, with clubs, 
battle-axes, and other implements of ancient warfare, 
designed to represent the soldiers of King Arthur; 
those primitive Britons, by whom, according to ro- 
mantic tradition, the Castle had been first tenanted, 
though history carried back its antiquity only to 
the times of the Heptarchy. Some of these tremen- 
dous figures were real men, dressed up with vizards 
and buskins ; others were mere pageants composed 
of pasteboard and buckram, which, viewed from be- 
neath, and mingled with those that were real, formed 
a sufficiently striking representation of what was 
intended. But the gigantic porter who waited at 
the gate beneath, and actually discharged the duties 
of warder, owed none of his terrors to fictitious 
means. He was a man whose huge stature, thewes, 
sinews, and bulk in proportion, would have enabled 
him to enact Colbrand, Ascapart, or any other giant 
of romance, without raising himself nearer to heaven 


KENILWORTH. 


129 

even by the altitude of a chopin. The legs and 
knees of this son of Anak were bare, as were his 
arras, from a span below the shoulder ; but his feet 
were defended with sandals, fastened with cross 
straps of scarlet leather, studded with brazen knobs. 
A close jerkin of scarlet velvet, looped with gold, 
with short breeches of the same, covered his body 
and a part of his limbs ; and he wore on his shoul- 
ders, instead of a cloak, the skin of a black bear. 
The head of this formidable person was uncovered, 
except by his shaggy black hair, which descended 
on either side around features of that huge, lumpish, 
and heavy cast, which are often annexed to men of 
very uncommon size, and which, notwithstanding 
some distinguished exceptions, have created a gen- 
eral prejudice against giants, as being a dull and 
sullen kind of persons. This tremendous warder 
was appropriately armed with a heavy club spiked 
with steel. In fine, he represented excellently one 
of those giants of popular romance, who figure in 
every fairy tale, or legend of knight-errantry. 

The demeanour of this modern Titan, when Way- 
land Smith bent his attention to him, had in it 
something arguing much mental embarrassment and 
vexation ; for sometimes he sat down for an instant 
on a massive stone bench, which seemed placed for 
his accommodation beside the gateway, and then 
ever and anon he started up, scratching his huge 
head, and striding to and fro on his post, like one 
under a fit of impatience and anxiety. It was while 
the porter was pacing before the gate in this agitated 
manner, that Way land, modestly, yet as a matter 
of course, (not, however, without some mental mis- 
giving,) was about to pass him, and enter the portal 
arch. The porter, however, stopped his progress. 


130 


KENILWORTH. 


bidding him, in a thundering voice, “ Stand back ! w 
and enforcing his injunction by heaving up his steel- 
shod mace, and dashing it on the ground before 
Way land’s horse’s nose with such vehemence, that 
the pavement flashed fire, and the archway rang to 
the clamour. Wayland, availing himself of Dickie’s 
hint, began to state that he belonged to a band of 
performers to which his presence was indispensable, 
that he had been accidentally detained behind, and 
much to the same purpose. But the warder was in- 
exorable, and kept muttering and murmuring some- 
thing betwixt his teeth, which Wayland could make 
little of ; and addressing betwixt whiles a refusal of 
admittance, couched in language which was but too 
intelligible. A specimen of his speech might run 
thus. — “ What, how now, my masters ? ” (to himself) 
- — “ Here’s a stir — here’s a coil.” — (Then to Way- 
land) — “You are a loitering knave, and shall have 
no entrance ” — (Again to himself) — “ Here’s a 
throng — here’s a thrusting. — I shall ne’er get 
through with it — Here’s a — humph — ha ” — (To 
Wayland) — “ Back from the gate, or I’ll break the 
pate of thee ” — (Once more to himself) — “ Here’s 
a — no — I shall never get thro *h it.” 

“ Stand still,” whispered Flibbertigibbet into 
Way land’s ear ; “ I know where the shoe pinches, 
and will tame him in an instant.” 

He dropped down from the horse, and skipping 
up to the porter, plucked him by the tail of the bear- 
skin, so as to induce him to decline his huge head, 
and whispered something in his ear. Not at the com- 
mand of the lord of some Eastern talisman did ever 
Afrite change his horrid frown into a look of smooth 
submission, more ' suddenly than the gigantic porter 
of Kenilworth relaxed the terrors of his look, at the 


KENILWORTH. 


I3i 

instant Flibbertigibbet’s whisper reached his ears. 
He flung his club upon the ground, and caught up 
Dickie Sludge, raising him to such a distance from 
the earth, as might have proved perilous had he 
chanced to let him slip. 

“ It is even so,” he said, with a thundering sound 
of exultation — “ it is even so, my little dandieprat 
— But who the devil could teach it thee ? ” 

“Do not thou care about that,” said Flibberti- 
gibbet; “but” -he looked at Way land and the 

lady, and then sunk what he had to say in a whis- 
per, which needed not be a loud one, as the giant 
held him for his convenience close to his ear. The 
porter then gave Dickie a warm caress, and set him 
on the ground with the same care which a careful 
housewife uses in replacing a cracked china cup 
upon her mantelpiece, calling out at the same time 
to Wayland and the lady, “ In with you — in with 
you — and take heed how you come too late another 
day when I chance to be porter.” 

“ Ay, ay, in with you,” added Flibbertigibbet ; 
“ I must stay a short space with mine honest Phil- 
istine, my Goliath of Gath here ; but I will be with 
you anon, and a^/ he bottom of all your secrets, were 
they as deep ana dark as the castle dungeon.” 

“ I do believe thou wouldst,” said Wayland ; “but 
I trust the secret will be soon out of my keeping, 
and then I shall care the less whether thou or any 
one knows it.” 

They now crossed the entrance tower, which ob- 
tained the name of the Gallery-tower, from the 
following circumstance : — The whole bridge, ex- 
tending from the entrance to another tower on the 
opposite side of the lake, called Mortimer’s Tower, 
was so disposed as to make a spacious tilt-yard, 


KENILWORTH. 


about one hundred and thirty yards in length, and 
ten in breadth, strewed with the finest sand, and de- 
fended on either side by strong and high palisades. 
The broad and fair gallery, destined for the ladies 
who were to witness the feats of chivalry presented 
on this area, was erected on the northern side of the 
outer tower to which it gave name. Our travellers 
passed slowly along the bridge or tilt-yard, and ar- 
rived at Mortimer’s Tower, at its farthest extremity, 
through which the approach led into the outer, or 
base court of the castle. Mortimer’s Tower bore on 
its front the scutcheon of the Earl of March, whose 
daring ambition overthrew the throne of Edward II., 
and aspired to share his power with the “ She-wolf 
of France,” to whom the unhappy monarch was 
wedded. The gate, which opened under this ominous 
memorial, was guarded by many warders in rich 
liveries ; but they offered no opposition to the en- 
trance of the Countess and her guide, who, having 
passed by license of the principal porter at the Gal- 
ery-tower, were not, it may be supposed, liable to 
interruption from his deputies. They entered ac- 
cordingly, in silence, the great outward court of the 
castle, having then full before them that vast and 
lordly pile, with all its stately towers, each gate 
open, as if in sign of unlimited hospitality, and the 
apartments filled with noble guests of every degree, 
besides dependents, retainers, domestics of every 
description, and all the appendages and promoters 
of mirth and revelry. 

Amid this stately and busy scene, Wayland halted 
his horse, and looked upon the lady, as if waiting 
her commands what was next to be done, since they 
had safely reached the place of destination. As she 
remained silent, Wayland, after waiting a minute or 


KENILWORTH. 


133 


two, ventured to ask her, in direct terms, what were 
her next commands. She raised her hand to her 
forehead, as if in the act of collecting her thoughts 
and resolution, while she answered him in a low 
and suppressed voice, like the murmurs of one who 
speaks in a dream — “ Commands ? I may indeed 
claim right to command, but who is there will 
obey me ? ” 

Then suddenly raising her head, like one who has 
formed a decisive resolution, she addressed a gaily 
dressed domestic, who was crossing the court with 
importance and bustle in his countenance. — “ Stop, 
sir/’ she said, “ I desire to speak with the Earl of 
Leicester.” 

“ With whom, an it please you ? ” said the man, 
surprised at the demand ; and then looking upon 
the mean equipage of her who used towards him 
such a tone of authority, he added, with insolence, 
“ Why, what Bess of Bedlam is this, would ask to 
see my lord on such a day as the present ? ” 

“ Friend,” said the Countess, “ be not insolent — 
my business with the Earl is most urgent.” 

“ You must get some one else to do it, were it 
thrice as urgent,” said the fellow. — “ I should sum- 
mon my lord from the Queen’s royal presence to do 
your business, should I ? — I were like to be thanked 
with a horse-whip. I marvel our old porter took 
not measure of such ware with his club, instead of 
giving them passage ; but his brain is addled with 
getting his speech by heart.” 

Two or three persons stopped, attracted by the 
fleering way in which the serving-man expressed 
himself; and Way land, alarmed both for himself 
and the lady, hastily addressed himself to one who 
appeared the most civil, and thrusting a piece of 


134 


KENILWORTH. 


money into his hand, held a moment’s counsel with 
him, on the subject of finding a place of temporary 
retreat for the lady. The person to whom he spoke, 
being one in some authority, rebuked the others for 
their incivility, and commanding one fellow to take 
care of the strangers’ horses, he desired them to 
follow him. The Countess retained presence of mind 
sufficient to see that it was absolutely necessary she 
should comply with his request; and, leaving the 
rude lackeys and grooms to crack their brutal jests 
about light heads, light heels, and so forth, Way land 
and she followed in silence the deputy -usher, who 
undertook to be their conductor. 

They entered the inner court of the Castle by the 
great gateway, which extended betwixt the princi- 
pal Keep, or Donjon, called Caesar’s Tower, and a 
stately building which passed by the name of King 
Henry’s Lodging, and were thus placed in the centre 
of the noble pile, which presented on its different 
fronts magnificent specimens of every species of 
castellated architecture, from the Conquest to the 
reign of Elizabeth, with the appropriate style and 
ornaments of each. 

Across this inner court also they were conducted 
by their guide to a small but strong tower, occupy- 
ing the north-east angle of the building adjacent to 
the great hall, and filling up a space betwixt the 
immense range of kitchens and the end of the 
great hall itself. The lower part of this tower was 
occupied by some of the household officers of Lei- 
cester, owing to its convenient vicinity to the places 
where their duty lay ; but in the upper story, which 
was reached by a narrow winding stair, was a small 
octangular chamber, which, in the great demand for 
lodgings, had been on the present occasion fitted up 


KENILWORTH. 


*35 


for the reception of guests, though generally said to 
have been used as a place of confinement for some 
unhappy person who had been there murdered. 
Tradition called this prisoner Mervyn, and trans- 
ferred his name to the tower. That it had been used 
as a prison was not improbable ; for the floor of each 
story was arched, the walls of tremendous thickness, 
while the space of the chamber did not exceed fifteen 
feet in diameter. The window, however, was pleas- 
ant, though narrow, and commanded a delightful 
view of what was called the Pleasance ; a space of 
ground enclosed and decorated with arches, trophies, 
statues, fountains, and other architectural monu- 
ments, which formed one access from the castle 
itself into the garden. There was a bed in the 
apartment and other preparations for the reception of 
a guest, to which the Countess paid but slight atten- 
tion, her notice being instantly arrested by the sight 
of writing materials placed on the table, (not very 
commonly to be found in the bedrooms of those 
days,) which instantly suggested the idea of writing 
to Leicester, and remaining private until she had 
received his answer. 

The deputy-usher, having introduced them into 
this commodious apartment, courteously asked 
Way land, whose generosity he had experienced, 
whether he could do any thing farther for his ser- 
vice. Upon receiving a gentle hint, that some re- 
freshment would not be unacceptable, he presently 
conveyed the smith to the buttery-hatch, where 
dressed provisions of all sorts were distributed, with 
hospitable profusion, to all who asked for them. 
Way land was readily supplied with some light pro- 
visions, such as he thought would best suit the faded 
appetite of the lady, and did not omit the opportunity 


KENILWORTH. 


*36 

of himself making a hasty but hearty meal on more 
substantial fare. He then returned to the apart- 
ment in the turret, where he found the Countess, 
who had finished her letter to Leicester ; and, in lieu 
of a seal and silken thread, had secured it with a 
braid of her own beautiful tresses, fastened by what 
is called a true-love knot. 

“ Good friend,” said she to Wayland, “ whom 
God hath sent to aid me at my utmost need, I do 
beseech thee, as the last trouble you shall take for 
an unfortunate lady, to deliver this letter to the 
noble Earl of Leicester. Be it received as it may,” 
she said, with features agitated betwixt hope and 
fear, “ thou, good fellow, shalt have no more cumber 
with me. But I hope the best; and if ever 
lady made a poor man rich, thou hast surely de- 
served it at my hand, should my happy days ever 
come round again. Give it, I pray you, into Lord 
Leicester’s own hand, and mark how he looks on 
receiving it.” 

Wayland, on his part, readily undertook the 
commission, hut anxiously prayed the lady, in his 
turn, to partake of some refreshment ; in which he 
at length prevailed, more through importunity, and 
her desire to see him begone on his errand, than 
from any inclination the Countess felt to comply 
with his request. He then left her, advising her 
to lock her door on the inside, and not to stir from 
her little apartment — and went to seek an oppor- 
tunity of discharging her errand, as well as of 
carrying into effect a purpose of his own, which 
circumstances had induced him to form. 

In fact, from the conduct of the lady during the 
journey — her long fits of profound silence — the irre- 
solution and uncertainty which appeared to pervade 


KENILWORTH. 


1 3? 

all her movements, and the obvious incapacity of 
thinking and acting for herself, under which she 
seemed to labour, Way land had formed the not im- 
probable opinion, that the difficulties of her situation 
had in some degree affected her understanding. 

When she had escaped from the seclusion of Cum- 
nor-Place, and the dangers to which she was there 
exposed, it would have seemed her most rational 
course to retire to her father’s or elsewhere, at a 
distance from the power of those by whom these 
dangers had been created. When, instead of doing 
so, she demanded to be conveyed to Kenilworth, 
Wayland had been only able to account for her con- 
duct, by supposing that she meant to put herself 
under the tutelage of Tressilian, and to appeal to 
the protection of the Queen. But now, instead of 
following this natural course, she intrusted him with 
a letter to Leicester, the patron of Varney, and within 
whose jurisdiction at least, if not under his express 
authority, all the evils she had already suffered 
were inflicted upon her. This seemed an unsafe, 
and even a desperate measure, and Wayland felt 
anxiety for his own safety, as well as that of the 
lady, should he execute her commission, before he 
had secured the advice and countenance of a pro- 
tector. He therefore resolved, before delivering 
the letter to Leicester, that he would seek out Tres- 
silian, and communicate to him the arrival of the 
lady at Kenilworth, and thus at once rid himself of 
all farther responsibility, and devolve the task of 
guiding and protecting this unfortunate lady upon 
the patron who had at first employed him in her 
service. 

“He will be a better judge than I am,” said Way- 
land, “ whether she is to be gratified in this humour 


38 


KENILWORTH. 


of appeal to my Lord of Leicester, which seems like 
an act of insanity ; and, therefore, I will turn the 
matter over on his hands, deliver him the letter, re- 
ceive what they list to give me by way of guerdon, 
and then show the Castle of Kenilworth a pair of 
light heels ; for, after the work I have been engaged 
in, it will be, I fear, neither a safe nor wholesome 
place of residence ; and I would rather shoe colts 
on the coldest common in England, than share in 
their gayest revels.” 


CHAPTER X. 


In my time I have seen a boy do wonders. 

Robin, the red tinker, had a boy 
Would ha’ run through a cat-hole. 

The Coxcomb. 

Amid the universal bustle which filled the Castle 
and its environs, it was no easy matter to find out 
any individual; and Way land was still less likely to 
light upon Tressilian, whom he sought so anxiously, 
because, sensible of the danger of attracting atten- 
tion, in the circumstances in which he was placed, 
he dared not make general enquiries among the 
retainers or domestics of Leicester. He learned, 
however, by indirect questions, that, in all probabil- 
ity, Tressilian must have been one of a lar-ge party 
of gentlemen in attendance on the Earl of Sussex, 
who had accompanied their patron that morning to 
Kenilworth, when Leicester had received them with 
marks of the most formal respect and distinction. 
He farther learned, that both Earls, with their 
followers, and many other nobles, knights, and 
gentlemen, had taken, horse, and gone towards 
Warwick several hours since, for the purpose of 
escorting the Queen to Kenilworth. 

Her Majesty’s arrival, like other great events, 
was delayed from hour to hour ; and it was now 
announced by a breathless post, that her Majesty, 
being detained by her gracious desire to receive 
the homage of her lieges who had thronged to wait 
upon her at Warwick, it would be the hour of twi- 


140 


KENILWORTH. 


light ere she entered the Castle. The intelligence 
released for a time those who were upon duty, in 
the immediate expectation of the Queen’s appear- 
ance, and ready to play their part in the solemnities 
with which it was to be accompanied ; and Way- 
land, seeing several horsemen enter the Castle, was 
not without hopes that Tressilian might be of the 
number. That he might not lose an opportunity of 
meeting his patron in the event of this being the case, 
Way land placed himself in the base-court of the 
Castle, near Mortimer’s Tower, and watched every 
one who went or came by the bridge, the extremity 
of which was protected by that building. Thus 
stationed, nobody could enter or leave the Castle 
without his observation, and most anxiously did he 
study the garb and countenance of every horseman, 
as, passing from under the opposite Gallery-tower, 
they paced slowly, or curvetted, along the tilt-yard, 
and approached the entrance of the base-court. 

But while Wayland gazed thus eagerly to dis- 
cover him whom he saw not, he was pulled by 
the sleeve by one by whom he himself would not 
willingly have been seen. 

This was Dickie Sludge, or Flibbertigibbet, who, 
like the imp whose name he bore, and whom he had 
been accoutred in order to resemble, seemed to be 
ever at the ear of those who thought least of him. 
Whatever were Way land’s internal feelings, he 
judged it necessary to express pleasure at their 
unexpected meeting. 

“Ha ? is it thou, my minikin — my miller’s thumb 
— my prince of cacodemons — my little mouse ? ” 

“Ay,” said Dickie, “the mouse which gnawed 
asunder the toils, just when the lion who was caught 
in them began to look wonderfully like an ass.” 


KENILWORTH. 


141 

“Why, thou little hop- th e-gutter, thou art as 
sharp as vinegar this afternoon ! But tell me, how 
didst thou come off with yonder jolterheaded giant, 
whom I left thee with ? — I was afraid he would 
have stripped thy clothes, and so swallowed thee, as 
men peel and eat a roasted chestnut.” 

“ Had he done so,” replied the boy, “ he would 
have had more brains in his guts than ever he had 
in his noddle. But the giant is a courteous monster, 
and more grateful than many other folk whom I 
have helped at a pinch, Master Way land Smith.” 

“ Beshrew me, Flibbertigibbet,” replied Way land, 
“ but thou art sharper than a Sheffield whittle ! 
I would I knew by what charm you muzzled yonder 
old bear.” 

“Ay, that is in your own manner,” answered 
Dickie ; “ you think fine speeches will pass muster 
instead of good-will. However, as to this honest 
porter, you must know, that when we presented our- 
selves at the gate yonder, his brain was overburdened 
with a speech that had been penned for him, and 
which proved rather an overmatch for his gigantic 
faculties. Now this same pithy oration had been 
indited, like sundry others, by my learned magister, 
Erasmus Holiday, so I had heard it often enough 
to remember every line. As soon as I heard him 
blundering, and floundering like a fish upon dry 
land, through the first verse, and perceived him 
at a stand, I knew where the shoe pinched, and 
helped him to the next word, when he caught me up 
in an ecstasy, even as you saw but now. I promised, 
as the price of your admission, to hide me under 
his bearish gaberdine, and prompt him in the hour 
of need. I have just now been getting some food 
in the Castle, and am about to return to him.” 


142 


KENILWORTH. 


“ That’s right — that’s right, my dear Dickie/' 
replied Way land ; “ haste thee, for Heaven’s sake ! 
else the poor giant will be utterly disconsolate for 
want of his dwarfish auxiliary — Away with thee, 
Dickie ! ” 

“ Ay, ay 1 " answered the boy — “ Away with 
Dickie, when we have got what good of him we can. 
— You will not let me know the story of this lady, 
then, who is as much sister of thine as I am ? ” 

“ Why, what good would it do thee, thou silly 
elf?” said Way land. 

“ 0, stand ye on these terms ? ” said the boy ; 
“ well, I care not greatly about the matter, — only, 
I never smell out a secret, but I try to be either at 
the right or the wrong end of it, and so good even- 
ing to ye.” 

“ Nay, but Dickie,” said Wayland, who knew the 
boy’s restless and intriguing disposition too well not 
to fear his enmity — “stay, my dear Dickie — part 
not with old friends so shortly ! — Thou slialt know 
all I know of the lady one day.” 

“ Ay ! ” said Dickie ; “ and that day may prove 
a nigh one. — Fare thee well, Wayland — I will to 
my large-limbed friend, who, if he have not so sharp 
a wit as some folk, is at least more grateful for the 
service which other folk render him. And so again, 
good evening to ye.” 

So saying, he cast a somerset through the gate- 
way, and, lighting on the bridge, ran with the 
extraordinary agility which was one of his distin- 
guishing attributes, towards the Gallery-tower, and 
was out of sight in an instant. 

“ I would to God I were safe out of this Castle 
again !” prayed Wayland, internally ; “ for now that 
this mischievous imp has put his finger in the pie, 


KENILWORTH. 


143 


it cannot but prove a mess fit for the devil's eat- 
ing. I would to Heaven Master Tressilian would 
appear ! ” 

Tressilian, whom he was thus anxiously expect- 
ing in one direction, had returned to Kenilworth 
by another access. It was indeed true, as Way land 
had conjectured, that, in the earlier part of the day, 
he had accompanied the Earls on their cavalcade 
towards Warwick, not without hope that he might 
in that town hear some tidings of his emissary. Be- 
ing disappointed in this expectation, and observing 
Varney amongst Leicester’s attendants, seeming as 
if he had some purpose of advancing to, and address- 
ing him, he conceived, in the present circumstances, 
it was wisest to avoid the interview. He, therefore, 
left the presence-chamber when the High-Sheriff of 
the county was in the very midst of his dutiful ad- 
dress to her Majesty ; and, mounting his horse, rode 
back to Kenilworth, by a remote and circuitous 
road, and entered the castle by a small sallyport 
in the western wall, at which he was readily admit- 
ted as one of the followers of the Earl of Sussex, 
towards whom Leicester had commanded the ut- 
most courtesy to be exercised. It was thus that 
he met not Way land, who was impatiently watch- 
ing his arrival, and whom he himself would have 
been, at least, equally desirous to see. 

Having delivered his horse to the charge of his 
attendant, he walked for a space in the Pleasance 
and in the garden, rather to indulge in comparative 
solitude his own reflections, than to admire those 
singular beauties of nature and art which the mag- 
nificence of Leicester had there assembled. The 
greater part of the persons of condition had left the 
Castle for the present, to form part of the Earl’s 


144 


KENILWORTH, 


cavalcade ; others, who remained behind, were on the 
battlements, outer walls, and towers, eager to view 
the splendid spectacle of the royal entry. The gar- 
den, therefore, while every other part of the Castle 
resounded with the human voice, was silent, but 
for the whispering of the leaves, the emulous war- 
bling of the tenants of a large aviary, with their 
happier companions who remained denizens of the 
free air, and the plashing of the fountains, which, 
forced into the air from sculptures of fantastic and 
grotesque forms, fell down with ceaseless sound 
into the great basins of Italian marble. 

The melancholy thoughts of Tressilian cast a 
gloomy shade on all the objects with which he was 
surrounded. He compared the magnificent scenes 
which he here traversed, with the deep woodland 
and wild moorland which surrounded Lidcote-Hall, 
and the image of Amy Robsart glided like a phan- 
tom through every landscape which his imagination 
summoned up. Nothing is perhaps more danger- 
ous to the future happiness of men of deep thought 
and retired habits, than the entertaining an early, 
long, and unfortunate attachment. It frequently 
sinks so deep into the mind, that it becomes their 
dream by night and their vision by day — mixes it- 
self with every source of interest and enjoyment ; 
and, when blighted and withered by final disappoint- 
ment, it seems as if the springs of the spirit were 
dried up along with it. This aching of the heart, 
this languishing after a shadow which has lost all 
the gaiety of its colouring, this dwelling on the re- 
membrance of a dream from which we have been 
long roughly awakened, is the weakness of a gentle 
and generous heart, and it was that of Tressilian. 

He himself at length became sensible of the 


KENILWORTH. 


145 


necessity of forcing other objects upon his mind ; 
and for this purpose he left the Pleasance, in order to 
mingle with the noisy crowd upon the walls, and 
view the preparation for the pageants. But as he 
left the garden, and heard the busy hum, mixed 
with music and laughter, which floated around him, 
he felt an uncontrollable reluctance to mix with 
society, whose feelings were in a tone so different 
from his own, and resolved, instead of doing so, to 
retire to the chamber assigned him, and employ 
himself in study until the tolling of the great castle- 
bell should announce the arrival of Elizabeth. 

Tressilian crossed accordingly by the passage be- 
twixt the immense range of kitchens and the great 
hall, and ascended to the third story of Mervyn’s 
Tower, and applying himself to the door of the small 
apartment which had been allotted to him, was sur- 
prised to find it was locked. He then recollected 
that the deputy-chamberlain had given him a mas- 
ter-key, advising him, in the present confused state 
of the Castle, to keep his door as much shut as pos- 
sible. He applied this key to the lock, the bolt re- 
volved, he entered, and in the same instant saw a 
female form seated in the apartment, and recognised 
that form to be Amy Robsart. His first idea was, 
that a heated imagination had raised the image on 
which it doted into visible existence ; his second, 
that he beheld an apparition — the third and abiding 
conviction, that it was Amy herself, paler, indeed, 
and thinner than in the days of heedless happiness, 
when she possessed the form and hue of a wood- 
nymph, with the beauty of a sylph; but still Amy, 
unequalled in loveliness by aught which had ever 
visited his eyes. 

The astonishment of the Countess was .scarce less 


146 


KENILWORTH, 


than that of Tressilian, although it was of shortei 
duration, because she had heard from Way land that 
he was in the Castle. She had started up at his 
first entrance, and now stood facing him, the paleness 
of her cheeks having given way to a deep blush. 

“ Tressilian,” she said, at length, “ why come you 
hare ? ” 

“Nay, why come you here, Amy,” returned Tres- 
silian, “ unless it be at length to claim that aid, which, 
as far as one man’s heart and arm can extend, shall 
instantly be rendered to you ? ” 

She was silent a moment, and then answered in a 
sorrowful, rather than an angry tone, — “I require 
no aid, Tressilian, and would rather be injured than 
benefited by any which your kindness can offer me. 
Believe me, I am near one whom law and love oblige 
to protect me.” 

“ The villain, then, hath done you the poor justice 
which remained in his power,” said Tressilian ; “ and 
I behold before me the wife of Varney ? ” 

“ The wife of Varney ! ” she replied, with all the 
emphasis of scorn ; “ With what base name, sir, does 
your boldness stigmatize the — the — the ” — She 
hesitated, dropped her tone of scorn, looked down, 
and was confused and silent ; for she recollected what 
fatal consequences might attend her completing the 
sentence with “ the Countess of Leicester,” which 
were the words that had naturally suggested them- 
selves. It would have been a betrayal of the secret, 
on which her husband had assured her that his for- 
tunes depended, to Tressilian, to Sussex, to the Queen, 
and to the whole assembled court. “Never,” she 
thought, “ will I break my promised silence. I will 
submit to every suspicion rather than that.” 

The tears rose to her eyes, as she stood silent be- 


KENILWORTH. 


147 


fore Tressilian ; while, looking on her with mingled 
grief and pity, he said, “ Alas ! Amy, your eyes con- 
tradict your tongue. That speaks of a protector, 
willing and able to watch over you ; but these tell 
me you are ruined, and deserted by the wretch to 
whom you have attached yourself.” 

She looked on him, with eyes in which anger 
sparkled through her tears, but only repeated the 
word “ wretch ! ” with a scornful emphasis. 

“ Yes, wretch ! ” said Tressilian ; “ for were he aught 
better, why are you here, and alone in my apartment ? 
Why was not fitting provision made for your hon- 
ourable reception ? ” 

“ In your apartment ? ” repeated Amy ; “ in your 
apartment ? It shall instantly be relieved of my 
presence,” She hastened towards the door : but the 
sad recollection of her deserted state at once pressed 
on her mind, -and, pausing on the threshold, she 
added, in a tone unutterably pathetic, “ Alas ! I had 
forgot — I know not where to go ” 

“ I see — I see it all,” said Tressilian, springing to 
her side, and leading her back to the seat, on which 
she sunk down — “ You do need aid — you do need 
protection, though you will not own it ; and you 
shall not need it long. Leaning on my arm, as the 
representative of your excellent and broken-hearted 
father, on the very threshold of the Castlegate, you 
shall meet Elizabeth ; and the first deed she shall do 
in the halls of Kenilworth, shall be an act of justice 
to her sex and her subjects. Strong in my good 
cause, and in the Queen’s justice, the power of her 
minion shall not shake my resolution. I will in- 
stantly seek Sussex.” 

“Not for all that is under heaven!” said the 
Countess, much alarmed, and feeling the absolute 


1 48 


KENILWORTH. 


necessity of obtaining time, at least, for considera- 
tion. “ Tressilian, you were wont to be generous — 
Grant me one request, and believe, if it be your wish 
to save me from misery, and from madness, you will 
do more by making me the promise I ask of you, 
than Elizabeth can do for me with all her power ! ” 

“ Ask me any thing for which you can allege rea- 
son,” said Tressilian ; “ but demand not of me ” 

“ 0, limit not your boon, dear Edmund ! ” exclaimed 
the Countess — “ you once loved that I should call 
you so Limit not your boon to reason ! for my 
case is all madness, and frenzy must guide the coun- 
sels which alone can aid me.” 

“ If you speak thus wildly,” said Tressilian, aston- 
ishment again overpowering both his grief and his 
resolution, “ I must believe you indeed incapable of 
thinking or acting for yourself.” 

“ Oh, no ! ’ she exclaimed, sinking on one knee be- 
fore him, “ I am not mad — I am but a creature 
unutterably miserable, and, from circumstances the 
most singular, dragged on to a precipice by the arm 
of him who thinks he is keeping me from it — even 
by yours, Tressilian — by yours, whom I have hon- 
oured, respected — all but loved — and yet loved, 
too — loved, too, Tressilian — though not as you 
wished me.” 

There was an energy — a self-possession — an aban- 
donment in her voice and manner — a total resigna- 
tion of herself to his generosity, which, together with 
the kindness of her expressions to himself, moved 
him deeply. He raised her, and, in broken accents, 
entreated her to be comforted. 

“ I cannot,” she said, “ I will not be comforted, till 
you grant me my request ! I will speak as plainly 
as I dare — lam now awaiting the commands of one 









' 

it 1 ?e ) ouy ■*vish 

■ 


on ; vaak thus wildly/* said Trlisi^u, astoii- 


v - j ■ u 

V king or ,■ ting for yourself.’ 


'■it- 1, sinking one Koe*l)e- 


' ■ \] } i'M , , r , . , ii: ^ 

voir, nxn] , ! , > [ r. signa- 


fi i '.i Mi a -i plainly 

ng • ' .•::.uda of one 





































* 







































































KENILWORTH. 


who has a right to issue them — The interference of 
a third person — of you in especial, Tressilian, will 
be ruin — utter ruin to me. Wait but four-and- 
twenty hours, and it may be that the poor Amy may 
have the means to show that she values, and can 
reward, your disinterested friendship — that she is 
happy herself, and has the means to make you so 
— It is surely worth your patience, for so short a 
space ? ” 

Tressilian paused, and weighing in his mind the 
various probabilities which might render a violent 
interference on his part more prejudicial than ad- 
vantageous, both to the happiness and reputation of 
Amy ; considering also that she was within the walls 
of Kenilworth, and could suffer no injury in a castle 
honoured with the Queen’s residence, and filled 
with her guards and attendants, — he conceived, 
upon the whole, that he might render her more evil 
than good service, by intruding upon her his ap- 
peal to Elizabeth in her behalf. He expressed his 
resolution cautiously, however, doubting naturally 
whether Amy’s hopes of extricating herself from 
her difficulties rested on any thing stronger than a 
blinded attachment to Varney, whom he supposed 
to be her seducer. 

“ Amy,” he said, while he fixed his sad and ex- 
pressive eyes on hers, which, in her ecstasy of doubt, 
terror, and perplexity, she cast up towards him, “ I 
have ever remarked, that when others called thee 
girlish and wilful, there lay under that external sem- 
blance of youthful and self-willed folly, deep feeling 
and strong sense. In this I will confide, trusting 
your own fate in your own hands for the space of 
twenty-four hours, without my interference by word 
or act.” 


KENILWORTH. 


15 * 

and intimate terms ; — “ What, no grudge between 
us, I hope, upon old scores, Master Tressilian ? — 
nay, I am one who remember former kindness rather 
than later feud — I’ll convince you that I meant 
honestly and kindly, ay, and comfortably by you.” 

“ I desire none of your intimacy,” said Tressi- 
lian — “ keep company with your mates.” 

“ Now, see how hasty he is ! ” said Lambourne ; 
“ and how these gentles, that are made questionless 
out of the porcelain clay of the earth, look down 
upon poor Michael Lambourne ! You would take 
Master Tressilian now for the most maid-like, modest, 
simpering squire of dames, that ever made love 
when candles were long i’ the stuff — snuff — call 
you it ? — Why, you would play the saint on us, Mas- 
ter Tressilian, and forget that even now thou hast a 
commodity in thy very bedchamber, to the shame 
of my lord’s castle, ha ! ha ! ha ! Have I touched 
you, Master Tressilian ? ” 

“ I know not what you mean,” said Tressilian, 
inferring, however, too surely, that this licentious 
ruffian must have been sensible of Amy’s presence 
in his apartment; “but if,” he continued, “thou 
art varlet of the chambers, and lackest a fee, there 
is one to leave mine unmolested.” 

Lambourne looked at the piece of gold, and put 
it in his pocket, saying — “Now, I know not but 
you might have done more with me by a kind word, 
than by this chiming rogue. But after all, he pays 
well that pays with gold — and Mike Lambourne was 
never a make-bate, or a spoil-sport, or the like. E’en 
live and let others live, that is my motto — only, I 
would not let some folks cock their beaver at me 
neither, as if they were made of silver ore, and I of 
Dutch pewter. So if I keep your secret, Master 


KENILWORTH. 


1 53 


Tressilian, you may look sweet on me at least ; and 
were I to want a little backing or countenance, be- 
ing caught, as you see the best of us may be, in a 
sort of peccadillo — why, you owe it me — and so e’en 
make your chamber serve you and that same bird in 
bower beside — it’s all one to Mike Lambourne.” 

“ Make way, sir,” said Tressilian, unable to bridle 
his indignation ; “ you have had your fee.” 

“Uml” said Lambourne, giving place, however, 
while he sulkily muttered between his teeth, repeat- 
ing Tressilian’s words — “Make way — and you 
have had your fee — but it matters not, I will spoil 
no sport, as I said before ; I am no dog in the manger 

— mind that.” 

He spoke louder and louder, as Tressilian, by 
whom he felt himself overawed, got farther and 
farther out of hearing. 

“ I am no dog in the manger — but I will not carry 
coals neither — mind that, my Master Tressilian ; 
and I will have a peep at this wench, whom you 
have quartered so commodiously in your old haunted 
room — afraid of ghosts, belike, and not too willing 
to sleep alone. If I had done this now in a strange 
lord’s castle, the word had been, — The porter’s lodge 
for the knave ! and, — Have him flogged — trundle 
him down stairs like a turnip I — Ay, but your vir- 
tuous gentlemen take strange privileges over us, 
who are downright servants of our senses. Well 

— I have my Master Tressilian’s head under my 
belt by this lucky discovery, that is one thing cer- 
tain ; and I will try to get a sight of this Lindabrides 
of his, that is another.” 


CHAPTEE XII. 


Now fare thee well, my master — if true service 
Be guerdon’d with hard looks, e’en cut the tow-line, 
And let our barks across the pathless flood 
Hold different courses. 

Shipwreck. 


Tressilian walked into the outer yard of the 
Castle, scarce knowing what to think of his late 
strange and most unexpected interview with Amy 
Kobsart, and dubious if he had done well, being in- 
trusted with the delegated authority of her father, 
to pass his word so solemnly to leave her to her own 
guidance for so many hours. Yet how could he 
have denied her request, — dependent as she had too 
probably rendered herself upon Varney ? Such was 
his natural reasoning. The happiness of her future 
life might depend upon his not driving her to extre- 
mities, and since no authority of Tressilian’s could 
extricate her from the power of Varney, supposing 
he was to acknowledge Amy to be his wife, what 
title had he to destroy the hope of domestic peace 
which might yet remain to her, by setting enmity 
betwixt them ? Tressilian resolved, therefore, scru- 
pulously to observe his word pledged to Amy, both 
because it had been given, and because, as he still 
thought, while he considered and reconsidered that 
extraordinary interview, it could not with justice or 
propriety have been refused. 


KENILWORTH. 


1 55 


In one respect, he had gained much towards se- 
curing effectual protection for this unhappy and still 
beloved object of his early affection. Amy was no 
longer mewed up in a distant and solitary retreat, 
under the charge of persons of doubtful reputation. 
She was in the Castle of Kenilworth, within the 
verge of the Royal Court for the time, free from 
all risk of violence, and liable to be produced before 
Elizabeth on the first summons. These were cir- 
cumstances which could not but assist greatly the 
efforts which he might have occasion to use in her 
behalf. 

While he was thus balancing the advantages and 
perils which attended her unexpected presence in 
Kenilworth, Tressilian was hastily and anxiously ac- 
costed by Way land, who, after ejaculating, “Thank 
God, your worship is found at last !” proceeded with 
breathless caution to pour into his ear the intelli- 
gence, that the lady had escaped from Cumnor 
Place. 

“ And is at present in this Castle,” said Tressi- 
lian ; “ I know it, and I have seen her — Was it by 
her own choice she found refuge in my apartment ? ” 

“No,” answered Way land; “but I could think 
of no other way of safely bestowing her, and was but 
too happy to find a deputy-usher who knew where 
you were quartered ; — in jolly society truly, the hall 
on the one hand, and the kitchen on the other ! ” 

“ Peace, this is no time for jesting,” answered 
Tressilian, sternly. 

“ I wot that but too well,” said the artist, “ for 
I have felt these three days as if I had an halter 
round my neck. This lady knows not her own mind 
— she will have none of your aid — commands you 
not to be named to her — and is about to put herself 


56 


KENILWORTH. 


into the hands of my Lord Leicester. I had never 
got her safe into your chamber, had she known the 
owner of it.” 

“ Is it possible ? ” said Tressilian. “ But she may 
have hopes the Earl will exert his influence in her 
favour over his villainous dependent.” 

“ I know nothing of that,” said Wayland — “ but 
I believe, if she is to reconcile herself with either 
Leicester or Varney, the side of the Castle of Kenil- 
worth which will be safest for us will be the out- 
side, from which we can fastest fly away. It is 
not my purpose to abide an instant after delivery 
of the letter to Leicester, which waits but your com- 
mands to find its way to him. See, here it is — but 
no — a plague on it — I must have left it in my dog- 
hole, in the hayloft yonder, where I am to sleep.” 

“Death and fury ! ” said Tressilian, transported 
beyond his usual patience ; “ thou hast not lost that 
on which may depend a stake more important than a 
thousand such lives as thine ? ” 

“Lost it!” answered Wayland, readily; “that 
were a jest indeed ! No, sir, I have it carefully put 
up with my night-sack, and some matters I have 
occasion to use — I will fetch it in an instant.” 

“ Do so,” said Tressilian ; “be faithful, and thou 
shalt be well rewarded. But if I have reason to 
suspect thee, a dead dog were in better case than 
thou ! ” 

Wayland bowed, and took his leave with seem- 
ing confidence and alacrity ; but, in fact, filled with 
the utmost dread and confusion. The letter was 
lost, that was certain, notwithstanding the apology 
which he had made to appease the impatient dis- 
pleasure of Tressilian. It was lost — it might fall 
into wrong hands — it would then, certainly, occa- 


KENILWORTH. 


* 5 ? 

sion a discovery of the whole intrigue in which he 
had been engaged ; nor, indeed, did Wayland see 
much prospect of its remaining concealed, in any 
event. He felt much hurt, besides, at Tressilian’s 
burst of impatience. 

“ Nay, if I am to he paid in this coin, for services 
where my neck is concerned, it is time I should look 
to myself. Here have I offended, for aught I know, 
to the death, the lord of this stately castle, whose 
word were as powerful to take away my life, as the 
breath which speaks it to blow out a farthing candle. 
And all this for a mad lady, and a melancholy gal- 
lant ; who, on the loss of a four-nooked bit of paper, 
has his hand on his poignado, and swears death and 
fury! — Then there is the Doctor and Varney — I 
will save myself from the whole mess of them — Life 
is dearer than gold — I will fly this instant, though 
I leave my reward behind me.” 

These reflections naturally enough occurred to a 
mind like Wayland’s, who found himself engaged 
far deeper than he had expected in a train of mys- 
terious and unintelligible intrigues, in which the 
actors seemed hardly to know their own course. 
And yet, to do him justice, his personal fears were, 
in some degree, counterbalanced by his compassion 
for the deserted state of the lady. 

“I care not a groat for Master Tressilian,” he 
said ; “ I have done more than bargain by him, and 
have brought his errant-damozel within his reach, 
so that he may look after her himself ; but I fear 
the poor thing is in much danger amongst these 
stormy spirits. I will to her chamber, and tell her 
the fate which has befallen her letter, that she may 
write another if she list. She cannot lack a mes- 
senger, I trow, where there are so many lackeys 


1 5 6 


KENILWORTH. 


into the hands of my Lord Leicester I had never 
got her safe into your chamber, had she known the 
owner of it.” 

“ Is it possible ? ” said Tressilian. “ But she may 
have hopes the Earl will exert his influence in her 
favour over his villainous dependent.” 

“ I know nothing of that,” said Wayland — “ hut 
I believe, if she is to reconcile herself with either 
Leicester or Varney, the side of the Castle of Kenil- 
worth which will he safest for us will be the out- 
side, from which we can fastest fly away. It is 
not my purpose to abide an instant after delivery 
of the letter to Leicester, which waits but your com- 
mands to find its way to him. See, here it is — but 
no — a plague on it — I must have left it in my dog- 
hole, in the hayloft yonder, where I am to sleep.” 

“Death and fury!” said Tressilian, transported 
beyond his usual patience ; “ thou hast not lost that 
on which may depend a stake more important than a 
thousand such lives as thine ? ” 

“Lost it!” answered Wayland, readily; “that 
were a jest indeed ! No, sir, I have it carefully put 
up with my night-sack, and some matters I have 
occasion to use — I will fetch it in an instant.” 

“ Do so,” said Tressilian ; “ be faithful, and thou 
shalt be well rewarded. But if I have reason to 
suspect thee, a dead dog were in better case than 
thou ! ” 

Wayland bowed, and took his leave with seem- 
ing confidence and alacrity ; but, in fact, filled with 
the utmost dread and confusion. The letter was 
lost, that was certain, notwithstanding the apology 
which he had made to appease the impatient dis- 
pleasure of Tressilian. It was lost — it might fall 
into wrong hands — it would then, certainly, occa- 


KENILWORTH. 


*5? 


sion a discovery of the whole intrigue in which he 
had been engaged ; nor, indeed, did Way land see 
much prospect of its remaining concealed, in any 
event. He felt much hurt, besides, at Tressilian’s 
burst of impatience. 

“ Nay, if I am to be paid in this coin, for services 
where my neck is concerned, it is time I should look 
to myself. Here have I offended, for aught I know, 
to the death, the lord of this stately castle, whose 
word were as powerful to take away my life, as the 
breath which speaks it to blow out a farthing candle. 
And all this for a mad lady, and a melancholy gal- 
lant ; who, on the loss of a four-nooked bit of paper, 
has his hand on his poignado, and swears death and 
fury! — Then there is the Doctor and Varney — I 
will save myself from the whole mess of them — Life 
is dearer than gold — I will fly this instant, though 
I leave my reward behind me.” 

These reflections naturally enough occurred to a 
mind like Wayland’s, who found himself engaged 
far deeper than he had expected in a train of mys- 
terious and unintelligible intrigues, in which the 
actors seemed hardly to know their own course. 
And yet, to do him justice, his personal fears were, 
in some degree, counterbalanced by his compassion 
for the deserted state of the lady. 

“I care not a groat for Master Tressilian,” he 
said ; “ I have done more than bargain by him, and 
have brought his errant-damozel within his reach, 
so that he may look after her himself ; but I fear 
the poor thing is in much danger amongst these 
stormy spirits. I will to her chamber, and tell her 
the fate which has befallen her letter, that she may 
write another if she list. She cannot lack a mes- 
senger, I trow, where there are so many lackeys 


/58 


KENILWORTH. 


that can carry a letter to their lord. And I will 
tell her also that I leave the Castle, trusting her to 
God, her own guidance, and Master Tressilian’s care 
and looking after. — Perhaps she may remember the 
ring she offered me — it was well earned, I trow ; 
but she is a lovely creature, and — marry hang the 
ring ! I will not bear a base spirit for the matter. 
If I fare ill in this world for my good-nature, I shall 
have better chance in the next. — So now for the 
lady, and then for the road.” 

With the stealthy step and jealous eye of the cat 
that steals on her prey, Wayland resumed the way 
to the Countess’s chamber, sliding along by the side 
of the courts and passages, alike observant of all 
around him, and studious himself to escape observa- 
tion. In this manner he crossed the outward and 
inward castle-yard, and the great arched passage, 
which, running betwixt the range of kitchen offices 
and the hall, led to the bottom of the little winding- 
stair that gave access to the chambers of Mervyn’s 
Tower. 

The artist congratulated himself on having es- 
caped the various perils of his journey, and was in 
the act of ascending by two steps at once, when he ob- 
served that the shadow of a man, thrown from a door 
which stood a-jar, darkened the opposite wall of the 
staircase. Wayland drew hack cautiously, went 
down to the inner court-yard, spent about a quarter 
of an hour, which seemed at least quadruple its usual 
duration in walking from place to place, and then re- 
turned to the tower, in hopes to find that the lurker 
had disappeared. He ascended as high as the sus- 
picious spot — there was no shadow on the wall — he 
ascended a few yards farther — the door was still 
a-jar, and he was doubtful whether to advance or 


KENILWORTH. 


159 

retreat, when it was suddenly thrown wide open, and 
Michael Lambourne bolted out upon the astonished 
Wayland. “ Who the devil art thou ? and what 
seek’st thou in this part of the Castle ? March into 
that chamber, and be hanged to thee ! ” 

“ I am no dog, to go at every man’s whistle,” said 
the artist, affecting a confidence which was belied 
by a timid shake in his voice. 

“ Say’st thou me so ? — Come hither, Lawrence 
Staples.” 

A huge ill-made and ill-looked fellow, upwards of 
six feet high, appeared at the door, and Lambourne 
proceeded : “ If thou be’st so fond of this tower, my 
friend, thou shalt see its foundations, good twelve 
feet below the bed of the lake, and tenanted by cer- 
tain jolly toads, snakes, and so forth, which thou 
wilt find mighty good company. Therefore, once 
more I ask you in fair play, who thou art, and what 
thou seek’st here ? ” 

If the dungeon-grate once clashes behind me, 
thought Wayland, I am a gone man. He therefore 
answered submissively, “ He was the poor juggler 
whom his honour had met yesterday in Weatherly- 
bottom.” 

“ And what juggling trick art thou vplaying in 
this tower ? Thy gang,” said Lambourne, “ lie over 
against Clinton’s buildings.” 

“I came here to see my sister,” said the jug- 
gler, “ who is in Master Tressilian’s chamber, just 
above.” 

“ Aha ! ” said Lambourne, smiling, “ here be truths ! 
Upon my honour, for a stranger, this same Master 
Tressilian makes himself at home among us, and 
furnishes out his cell handsomely, with all sorts 
of commodities. This will be a precious tale of the 


KENILWORTH. 


160 

* 

sainted Master Tressilian, and will be welcome to 
some folks, as a purse of broad pieces to me. — Hark 
ye, fellow,” he continued, addressing Way land, 
“ thou shalt not give Puss a hint to steal away — we 
must catch her in her form. So, back with that 
pitiful sheep-biting visage of thine, or I will fling 
thee from the window of the tower, and try if your 
juggling skill can save your bones.” 

“Your worship will not be so hardhearted, I 
hope,” said Wayland ; “ poor folk must live. I 
trust your hopour will allow me to speak with my 
sister ? ” 

“ Sister on Adam’s side, I warrant,” said Lam- 
bourne ; “ or, if otherwise, the more knave thou. 
But sister or no sister, thou diest on point of fox, 
if thou comest a-prying to this tower once more. 
And now I think of it — uds daggers and death ! — I 
will see thee out of the Castle, for this is a more 
main concern than thy jugglery.” 

“ But, please your worship,” said Wayland, “ I 
am to enact Arion in the pageant upon the lake this 
very evening.” 

“ I will act it myself, by Saint Christopher ! ” said 
Lambourne — “Orion, call’st thou him! — I will 
act Orion, his belt and his seven stars to boot. 
Come along, for a rascal knave as thou art — 
follow me ! — Or stay — Lawrence, do thou bring 
him along.” 

Lawrence seized by the collar of the cloak the 
unresisting juggler, while Lambourne, with hasty 
steps, led the way to that same sallyport, or secret 
postern, by which Tressilian had returned to the 
Castle, and which opened in the western wall, at no 
great distance from Mervyn’s Tower. 

While traversing with a rapid foot the space be- 


KENILWORTH. 


161 

twixt the tower and the sallyport, Wayland in vain 
racked his brain for some device which might avail 
the poor lady, for whom, notwithstanding his own 
imminent danger, he felt deep interest. But when 
he was thrust out of the Castle, and informed by 
Lambourne, with a tremendous oath, that instant 
death would be the consequence of his again 
approaching it, he cast up his hands and eyes to 
heaven, as if to call God to witness he had stood to 
the uttermost in defence of the oppressed ; then 
turned his back on the proud towers of Kenilworth, 
and went his way to seek a humbler and safer place 
of refuge. 

Lawrence and Lambourne gazed a little while 
after Wayland, and then turned to go back to their 
tower, when the former thus addressed his com- 
panion : “ Never credit me, Master Lambourne, if I 
can guess why thou hast driven this poor caitiff 
from the Castle, just when he was to bear a part in 
the show that was beginning, and all this about a 
wench.” 

“ Ah, Lawrence,” replied Lambourne, “ thou art 
thinking of Black Joan Jugges of Slingdon, and 
hast sympathy with human frailty. But corragio, 
most noble Duke of the Dungeon and Lord of Limbo, 
for thou art as dark in this matter as thine own 
dominions of Little-ease. My most reverend Signior 
of the Low Countries of Kenilworth, know that our 
most notable master, Richard Varney, would give as 
much to have a hole in this same Tressilian’s coat, 
as would make us some fifty midnight carousals, 
with the full leave of bidding the steward go snick 
up, if he came to startle us too soon from our 
goblets.” 

“ Nay, an that be the case, thou hast right,” said 


Kenilworth. 


162 

Lawrence Staples, the upper-warder, or, in common 
phrase, the first jailor of Kenilworth Castle, and of 
the Liberty and Honour belonging thereto ; “ but 
how will you manage when you are absent at the 
Queen’s entrance, Master Lambourne ; for methinks 
thou must attend thy master there ? ” 

“ Why thou, mine honest prince of prisons, must 
keep ward in my absence — Let Tressilian enter if 
he will, but see thou let no one come out. If the 
damsel herself would make a break, as ’tis not un- 
like she may, scare her back with rough words — 
she is but a paltry player’s wench after all.” 

“ Nay, for that matter,” said Lawrence, “ I might 
shut the iron wicket upon her, that stands without 
the double door, and so force per force she will be 
bound to her answer without more trouble.” 

“ Then Tressilian will not get access to her,” said 
Lambourne, reflecting a moment. “ But ’tis no 
matter — she will be detected in his chamber, and 
that is all one. — But confess, thou old bat’s-eyed 
dungeon-keeper, that you fear to keep awake by 
yourself in that Mervyn’s Tower of thine ? ” 

“ Why, as to fear, Master Lambourne,” said the 
fellow, “ I mind it not the turning of a key ; but 
strange things have been heard and seen in that 
tower. You must have heard, for as short time as 
you have been in Kenilworth, that it is haunted by 
the spirit of Arthur ap Mervyn, a wild chief taken 
by fierce Lord Mortimer, when he was one of the 
Lords Marches of Wales, and murdered, as they say, 
in that same tower which bears his name ? ” 

“ O, I have heard the tale five hundred times,” 
said Lambourne, “ and how the ghost is always most 
vociferous when they boil leeks and stirabout, or 
fry toasted cheese, in the culinary regions. Santo 


KENILWORTH. 163 

Diavolo, man, hold thy tongue, I know all about 
it!” 

“ Ay, but thou dost not, though,” said the turn- 
key, “ for as wise as thou wouldst make thyself. 
Ah, it is an awful thing to murder a prisoner in his 
ward ! — You, that may have given a man a stab in 
a dark street, know nothing of it. To give a muti- 
nous fellow a knock on the head with the keys, and 
bid him be quiet, that’s what I call keeping order 
in the ward ; but to draw weapon and slay him, as 
was done to this Welsh lord, that raises you a ghost 
that will render your prison-house untenantable by 
any decent captive for some hundred years. And 
I have that regard for my prisoners, poor things, 
that I have put good squires and men of worship, 
that have taken a ride on the highway, or slandered 
my Lord of Leicester, or the like, fifty feet under 
ground, rather than I would put them into that 
upper chamber yonder that they call Mervyn’s 
Bower. Indeed, by good Saint Peter of the Fetters, 
I marvel my noble lord, or Master Varney, could 
think of lodging guests there ; and if this Master 
Tressilian could get any one to keep him company, 
and in especial a pretty wench, why, truly, I think 
he was in thfc right on’t.” 

“I tell thee,” said Lamboume, leading the way 
into the turnkey’s apartment, “ thou art an ass. — 
Go bolt the wicket on the stair, and trouble not thy 
noddle about ghosts — Give me the wine stoup, man ; 
I am somewhat heated with chafing with yonder 
rascal.” 

While Lambourne drew a long draught from a 
pitcher of claret, which he made use of without any 
cup, the warder went on, vindicating his own belief 
in the supernatural. 


1 64 


KENILWORTH. 


“Thou hast been few hours in this Castle, and 
hast been for the whole space so drunk, Lambourne, 
that thou art deaf, dumb, and blind. But we should 
hear less of your bragging, were you to pass a night 
with us at full moon, for then the ghost is busiest ; 
and more especially when a rattling wind sets in 
from the north-west, with some sprinkling of rain, 
and now and then a growl of thunder. Body o’ 
me, what crackings and clashings, what groanings 
and what howlings, will there be at such times in 
Mervyn’s Bower, right as it were over our heads, 
till the matter of two quarts of distilled waters has 
not been enough to keep my lads and me in some 
heart ! ” 

“ Pshaw, man ! ” replied Lambourne, on whom his 
last draught, joined to repeated visitations of the 
pitcher upon former occasions* began to make some 
innovation, “thou speak’st thou know’st not what 
about spirits. No one knows justly what to say 
about them ; and, in short, least said may in that 
matter be soonest amended. Some men believe in 
one thing, some in another — it is all matter of fancy. 
I have known them of all sorts, my dear Lawrence 
Lock-the-door, and sensible men too. There’s a 
great lord — we’ll pass his name, Lawre#ice — he be- 
lieves in the stars and the moon, the planets and 
their courses, and so forth, and that they twinkle 
exclusively for his benefit ; when, in sober, or rather 
in drunken truth, Lawrence, they are only shining 
to keep honest fellows like me out of the kennel. 
Well, sir, let his humour pass, he is great enough 
to indulge it. — Then look ye, there is another — a 
very learned man, I promise you, and can vent 
Greek and Hebrew as fast as I can Thieves’-Latin 
— he has an humour of sympathies and antipathies 


KENILWORTH. 


165 

— of changing lead into gold and the like — why 
via, let that pass too, and let him pay those in trans- 
migrated coin, who are fools enough to let it be cur- 
rent with them. — Then here comest thou thyself, an- 
other great man, though neither learned nor noble, 
yet full six feet high, and thou, like a purblind 
mole, must needs believe in ghosts and goblins, and 
such like. — Now, there is, besides, a great man — 
that is, a great little man, or a little great man, my 
dear Lawrence — and his name begins with Y, and 
what believes he ? Why, nothing, honest Lawrence 

— nothing in earth, heaven, or hell; and for my 
part, if I believe there is a devil, it is only because 
I think there must be some one to catch our afore- 
said friend by the back ‘ when soul and body sever/ 
as the ballad says — for your antecedent will have a 
consequent — raro antecedentem , as Doctor Bircham 
was wont to say — But this is Greek to you now, 
honest Lawrence, and in sooth learning is dry work 

— Hand me the pitcher once more.” 

“ In faith, if you drink more, Michael,” said the 
warder, “ you will be in sorry case either to play 
Arion or to wait on your master on such a solemn 
night ; and I expect each moment to hear the great 
bell toll for the muster at Mortimer’s Tower, to re- 
ceive the Queen.” 

While Staples remonstrated, Lambourne drank ; 
and then setting down the pitcher, which was nearly 
emptied, with a deep sigh, he said, in an under tone, 
which soon rose to a high one as his speech pro- 
ceeded, “Never mind, Lawrence — if I be drunk, I 
know that shall make Varney uphold me sober. 
But, as I said, never mind, I can carry my drink 
discreetly. Moreover, I am to go on the water as 
Orion, and shall take cold unless I take something 


1 66 


KENILWORTH. 


comfortable beforehand. Not play Orion ! Let us 
see the best roarer that ever strained his lungs for 
twelve pence out-mouth me ! What if they see me 
a little disguised ? — Wherefore should any man be 
sober to-night ? answer me that — It is matter of 
loyalty to be merry — and I tell thee, there are 
those in the Castle, who, if they are not merry when 
drunk, have little chance to be merry when sober — 
I name no names, Lawrence. But your pottle of 
sack is a fine shoeing-horn to pull on a loyal hu- 
mour, and a merry one. Huzza for Queen Elizabeth ! 
— for the noble Leicester ! — for the worshipful 
Master Varney ! — and for Michael Lambourne, that 
can turn them all round his finger ! ” 

So saying, he walked down stairs, and across the 
inner court. 

The warder looked after him, shook his head, 
and, while he drew close and locked a wicket, 
which, crossing the staircase, rendered it impossible 
for any one to ascend higher than the story imme- 
diately beneath Mervyn’s Bower, as Tressilian’s 
chamber was named, he thus soliloquized with him- 
self — “ It’s a good thing to be a favourite — I well- 
nigh lost mine office, because one frosty morning 
Master Varney thought I smelled of aquavitae; and 
this fellow can appear before him drunk as a wine- 
skin, and yet meet no rebuke. But then he is a 
pestilent clever fellow withal, and no one can un- 
derstand above one half of what he says.” 


!l !*' 


CHAPTER XIII. 

Now bid the steeple rock — she comes, she comes ! — 

Speak for us, bells — speak for us, shrill-tougued tuckets. 

Stand to thy linstock, gunner ; let thy cannon 

Play such a peal, as if a paynim foe 

Came stretch’d in turban’d ranks to storm the ramparts. 

We will have pageants too but that craves wit. 

And I’m a rough-hewn soldier. 

The Virgin Queen — a Tragi- Comedy. 

Tressilian, when Wayland had left him, as men- 
tioned in the last chapter, remained uncertain what 
he ought next to do, when Raleigh and Blount came 
up to him arm in arm, yet, according to their wont, 
very eagerly disputing together. Tressilian had no 
great desire for their society in the present state of 
his feelings, but there was no possibility of avoiding 
them ; and indeed he felt that, bound by his promise 
not to approach Amy, or take any step in her be- 
half, it would be his best course at once to mix with 
general society, and to exhibit on his brow as little 
as he could of the anguish and uncertainty which 
sat heavy at his heart. He therefore made a virtue 
of necessity, and hailed his comrades with, “ All 
mirth to you, gentlemen. Whence come ye ? ” 
“From Warwick, to be sure,” said Blount; “we 
must needs home to change our habits, like poor 
players, who are fain to multiply their persons to 
outward appearance by change of suits ; and you 
had better do the like, Tressilian.” 

“Blount is right,” said Raleigh ; “the Queen 
loves such marks of deference, and notices, as want- 


1 68 


KENILWORTH. 


ing in respect, those who, not arriving in her inn 
mediate attendance, may appear in their soiled and 
ruffled riding-dress. But look at Blount himself, 
Tressilian, for the love of laughter, and see how 
his villainous tailor hath apparelled him — in blue, 
green, and crimson, with carnation ribands, and 
yellow roses in his shoes ! ” 

“ Why, what wouldst thou have ? ” said Blount. 
“I told the cross-legged thief to do his best, and 
spare no cost ; and methinks these things are gay 
enough — gayer than thine own — I’ll be judged by 
Tressilian.” 

“ I agree — I agree,” said Walter Baleigh. “ Judge 
betwixt us, Tressilian, for the love of heaven ! ” 
Tressilian, thus appealed to, looked at them both, 
and was immediately sensible at a single glance, 
that honest Blount had taken upon the tailor’s war- 
rant the pied garments which he had chosen to 
make, and was as much embarrassed by the quan- 
tity of points and ribands which garnished his dress, 
as a clown is in his holyday clothes ; while the dress 
of Baleigh was a well-fancied and rich suit, which 
the wearer bore as a garb too well adapted to his 
elegant person to attract particular attention. Tres- 
silian said, therefore, “ That Blount’s dress was finest, 
but Baleigh’s the best fancied.” 

Blount was satisfied with his decision. “ I knew 
mine was finest,” he said ; “ if that knave Double- 
stitch had brought me home such a simple doublet 
as that of Baleigh’s, I would have beat his brains 
out with his own pressing-iron. Kay, if we must be 
fools, ever let us be fools of the first head, say I.” 

“But why gettest thou not on thy braveries, 
Tressilian ? ” said Baleigh. 

“I am excluded from my apartment by a silly 


KENILWORTH. 


169 


mistake,” said Tressilian, “ and separated for the 
time from my baggage. I was about to seek thee, 
to beseech a share of thy lodging .” 

“ And welcome,” said Raleigh ; “ it is a noble 
one. My Lord of Leicester has done us that kind- 
ness, and lodged us in princely fashion. If his cour- 
tesy be extorted reluctantly, it is at least extended 
far. I would advise you to tell your strait to 
the Earl’s chamberlain — you will have instant 
redress.” 

" Nay, it is not worth while, since you can spare 
me room,” replied Tressilian — “I would not be 
troublesome. — Has any one come hither with you ? ” 

“ 0, ay,” said Blount; “Varney, and a whole 
tribe of Leicestrians, besides about a score of us 
honest Sussex folk. We are all, it seems, to -re- 
ceive the Queen at what they call the Gallery -tower, 
and witness some fooleries there ; and then we’re 
to remain in attendance upon the Queen in the Great 
Hall — God bless the mark — while those who are 
now waiting upon her Grace get rid of their slough, 
and doff their riding-suits. Heaven help me, if her 
Grace should speak to me, I shall never know what 
to answer ! ” 

“ And what has detained them so long at War- 
wick ? ” said Tressilian, unwilling that their conver- 
sation should return to his own affairs. 

“ Such a succession of fooleries,” said Blount, 
“ as were never seen at Bartholomew-fair. We 
have had speeches and players, and dogs and bears, 
and men making monkeys, and women moppets, of 
themselves — I marvel the Queen could endure it. 
But ever and anon came in something of ‘ the lovely 
light of her gracious countenance,’ or some such 
trash. Ah ! vanity makes a fool of the wisest. 


170 


KENILWORTH. 


But, come, let us on to this same Gallery-tower, — 
though I see not what thou, Tressilian, canst do 
with thy riding-dress and boots.” 

“ I will take my station behind thee, Blount,” 
said Tressilian, who saw that his friend’s unusual 
finery had taken a strong hold of his imagination ; 
“thy goodly size and gay dress will cover my 
defects.” 

“ And so thou shalt, Edmund,” said Blount. “ In 
faith, I am glad thou think’st my garb well-fancied, 
for all Mr. Wittypate here ; for when one does a 
foolish thing, it is right to do it handsomely.” 

So saying, Blount cocked his beaver, threw out 
his leg, and marched manfully forward, as if at the 
head of his brigade of pikemen, ever and anon look- 
ing with complaisance on his crimson stockings, and 
the huge yellow roses which blossomed on his shoes. 
Tressilian followed, wrapt in his own sad thoughts, 
and scarce minding Raleigh, whose quick fancy, 
amused by the awkward vanity of his respectable 
friend, vented itself in jests, which he whispered 
into Tressilian’s ear. 

In this manner they crossed the long bridge, or 
tilt-yard, and took their station, with other gentle- 
men of quality, before the outer gate of the Gallery, 
or Entrance-tower. The whole amounted to about 
forty persons, all selected as of the first rank under 
that of knighthood, and were disposed in double 
rows on either side of the gate, like a guard of hon- 
our, within the close hedge of pikes and partisans, 
which was formed by Leicester’s retainers, wearing 
his liveries. The gentlemen carried no arms save 
their swords and daggers. These gallants were as 
gaily dressed as imagination could devise ; and as 
the garb of the time permitted a great display of 


KENILWORTH. 


17 * 

expensive magnificence, nought was to be seen but 
velvet and cloth of gold and silver, ribands, feathers, 
gems, and golden chains. In spite of his more se- 
rious subjects of distress, Tressilian could not help 
feeling, that he, with his riding-suit, however hand- 
some it might be, made rather an unworthy figure 
among these “fierce vanities,” and the rather be- 
cause he saw that his dishabille was the subject of 
wonder among his own friends, and of scorn among 
the partisans of Leicester. 

We could not suppress this fact, though it may 
seem something at variance with the gravity of 
Tressilian’s character ; but the truth is, that a re- 
gard for personal appearance is a species of self-love, 
from which the wisest are not exempt, and to which 
the mind clings so instinctively, that not only the 
soldier advancing to almost inevitable death, but 
even the doomed criminal who goes to certain exe- 
cution, shows an anxiety to array his person to the 
best advantage. But this is a digression. 

It was the twilight of a summer night, (9th July, 
1575,) the sun having for some time set, and all 
were in anxious expectation of the Queen’s imme- 
diate approach. The multitude had remained as- 
sembled for many hours, and their numbers were 
still rather on the increase. A profuse distribu- 
tion of refreshments, together with roasted oxen, 
and barrels of ale set a-broach in different places of 
the road, had kept the populace in perfect love and 
loyalty towards the Queen and her favourite, which 
might have somewhat abated had fasting been added 
to watching. They passed away the time, there- 
fore, with the usual popular amusements of whoop- 
ing, hallooing, shrieking, and playing rude tricks 
upon each other, forming the chorus of discordant 


172 


KENILWORTH. 


sounds usual on such occasions. These prevailed 
all through the crowded roads and fields, and espe- 
cially beyond the gate of the Chase, where the 
greater number of the common sort were stationed ; 
when, all of a sudden, a single rocket was seen to 
shoot into the atmosphere, and, at the instant, far 
heard over flood and field, the great bell of the 
Castle tolled. 

Immediately there was a pause of dead silence, 
succeeded by a deep hum of expectation, the united 
voice of many thousands, none of whom spoke above 
t their breath ; or, to use a singular expression, the 
whisper of an immense multitude. 

“ They come now, for certain,” said Raleigh. 
" Tressilian, that sound is grand. We hear it from 
this distance, as mariners, after a long voyage, hear, 
upon their night-watch, the tide rush upon some 
distant and unknown shore.” 

“ Mass ! * answered Blount, “ I hear it rather as 
I used to hear mine own kine lowing from the close 
of Wittens-westlowe.” 

“ He will assuredly graze presently,” said Raleigh 
to Tressilian ; “ his thought is all of fat oxen and 
fertile meadows — he grows little better than one 
of his own beeves, and only becomes grand when he 
is provoked to pushing and goring.” 

“ We shall have him at that presently,” said Tres- 
silian, “ if you spare not your wit.” 

“ Tush, I care not,” answered Raleigh ; “ but thou 
too, Tressilian, hast turned a kind of owl, that flies 
only by night ; hast exchanged thy songs for screech- 
ings, and good company for an ivy-tod.” 

“But what manner of aniqnal art thou thyself, 
Raleigh,” said Tressilian, “ that thou holdest us all 
so lightly ? ” 


KENILWORTH. 


173 


“ Who, I ? ” replied Raleigh. “ An eagle am I, 
that never will think of dull earth while there is a 
heaven to soar in, and a sun to gaze upon.” 

• “ Well bragged, by Saint Barnaby ! ” said Blount ; 
“ but, good Master Eagle, beware the cage, and be- 
ware the fowler. Many birds have flown as high, 
that I have seen stuffed with straw, and hung up 
to scare kites.- - But hark, what a dead silence hath 
fallen on them at once ! ” 

“The procession pauses,” said Raleigh, “at the 
gate of the Chase, where a sibyl, one of the Fati - 
dicce , meets the Queen, to tell her fortune. I saw 
the verses ; there is little savour in them, and her 
Grace has been already crammed full* with such 
poetical compliments. She whispered to me during 
the Recorder’s speech yonder, at Ford-mill, as she 
entered the liberties of Warwick, how she was 
1 pertcesa barbarce loquelce.' ” 

“ The Queen whispered to him ! ” said Blount, 
in a kind of soliloquy ; “ Good God, to what will 
this world come !” 

His farther meditations were interrupted by a 
shout of applause from the multitude, so tremen- 
dously vociferous, that the country echoed for miles 
round. The guards, thickly stationed upon the road 
by which the Queen was to advance, caught up the 
acclamation, which ran like wildfire to the Castle, 
and announced to all within, that Queen Elizabeth 
had entered the Royal Chase of Kenilworth. The 
whole music of the Castle sounded at once, and a 
round of artillery, with a salvo of small arms, was 
discharged from the battlements ; but the noise of 
drums and trumpets, and even of the cannon them- 
selves, was but faintly heard amidst the roaring and 
reiterated welcomes of the multitude, 


174 


KENILWORTH. 


As the noise began' to abate, a broad glare of light 
was seen to appear from the gate of the Park, and, 
broadening and brightening as it came nearer, ad- 
vanced along the open and fair avenue that led 
towards the Gallery-tower ; which, as we have 
already noticed, was lined on either hand by the 
retainers of the Earl of Leicester. The word was 
passed along the line, “ The Queen ! The Queen ! 
Silence, and stsfcid fast ! ” Onward came the cav- 
alcade, illuminated by two hundred thick waxen 
torches, in the hands of as many horsemen, which 
cast a light like that of broad day all around the 
procession, but especially on the principal group, 
of which the Queen herself, arrayed in the most 
splendid manner, and blazing with jewels, formed 
the central figure. She was mounted on a milk- 
white horse, which she reined with peculiar grace 
and dignity ; and in the whole of her stately and 
noble carriage, you saw the daughter of an hundred 
kings. 

The ladies of the court, who rode beside her 
Majesty, had taken especial care that their own 
external appearance should not be more glorious 
than their rank and the occasion altogether de- 
manded, so that no inferior luminary might appear 
to approach the orbit of royalty. But their per- 
sonal charms, and the magnificence by which, under 
every prudential restraint, they were necessarily dis- 
tinguished, exhibited them as the very flower of a 
realm so far famed for splendour and beauty. The 
magnificence of the courtiers, free from such re- 
straints as prudence imposed on the ladies, was 
yet more unbounded. 

Leicester, who glittered like a golden image with 
jewels and cloth of gold, rode on her Majesty’s 


KENILWORTH. 


W5 


right hand, as well in quality of her host, as of 
her Master of the Horse. The black steed which 
he mounted had not a single white hair on his body, 
and was one of the most renowned chargers in Europe, 
having been purchased by the Earl at large expense 
for this royal occasion. As the noble animal chafed 
at the slow pace of the procession, and, arching his 
stately neck, champed on the silver bits which re- 
strained him, the foam flew from his mouth, and 
specked his well-formed limbs as if with spots of 
snow. The rider well became the high place which 
he held, and the proud steed which he bestrode ; for 
no man in England, or perhaps in Europe, was more 
perfect than Dudley in horsemanship, and all other 
exercises belonging to his quality. He was bare- 
headed, as were all the courtiers in the train ; and 
the red torchlight shone upon his long curled tresses 
of dark hair, and on his noble features, to the beauty 
of which even the severest criticism could only ob- 
ject the lordly fault, as it may be termed, of a fore- 
head somewhat too high. On that proud evening, 
those features wore all the grateful solicitude of a 
subject, to show himself sensible of the high honour 
which the Queen was conferring on him, and all the 
pride and satisfaction which became so glorious a 
moment. Yet, though neither eye nor feature be- 
trayed aught but feelings which suited the occasion, 
some of the Earl’s personal attendants remarked that 
he was unusually pale, and they expressed to each 
other their fear that he was taking more fatigue 
than consisted with his health. 

Varney followed close behind his master, as the 
principal esquire in waiting, and had charge of his 
lordship’s black velvet bonnet, garnished with a clasp 
of diamonds, and surmounted by a white plume. He 


176 


KENILWORTH. 


kept his eye constantly on his master ; and, for rea* 
sons with which the reader is not unacquainted, 
was, among Leicester’s numerous dependants, the 
one who was most anxious that his lord’s strength 
and resolution should carry him successfully through 
a day so agitating. For although Varney was one of 
the few — the very few moral monsters, who con- 
trive to lull to sleep the remorse of their own 
bosoms, and are drugged into moral insensibility 
by atheism, as men in extreme agony are lulled by 
opium, yet he knew that in the breast of his patron 
there was already awakened the fire that is never 
quenched, and that his lord felt, amid all the pomp 
and magnificence we have described, the gnawing of 
the worm that dieth not. Still, however, assured as 
Lord Leicester stood, by Varney’s own intelligence, 
that his Countess laboured under an indisposition 
which formed an unanswerable apology to the Queen 
for her not appearing at Kenilworth, there was little 
danger, his wily retainer thought, that a man so am- 
bitious would betray himself by giving way to any 
external weakness. 

The train, male and female, who attended imme- 
diately upon the Queen’s person, were of course 
of the bravest and the fairest — the highest born 
nobles, and the wisest counsellors, of that distin- 
guished reign, to repeat whose names were but to 
weary the reader. Behind came a long crowd of 
knights and gentlemen, whose rank and birth, how- 
ever distinguished, were thrown into shade, as their 
persons into the rear of a procession, whose front 
was of such august majesty. 

Thus marshalled, the cavalcade approached the 
Gallery-tower, which formed, as we have often ob- 
served, the extreme barrier of the Castle. 


KENILWORTH. 


177 


It was now the part of the huge porter to step 
forward ; but the lubbard was so overwhelmed with 
confusion of spirit, — the contents of one immense 
black jack of double ale, which he had just drank to 
quicken his memory, having treacherously confused 
the brain it was intended to clear, — that he only 
groaned piteously, and remained sitting on his stone 
seat ; and the Queen would have passed on without 
greeting, had not the gigantic warder’s secret ally, 
Flibbertigibbet, who lay perdue behind him, thrust 
a pin into the rear of the short femoral garment 
which we elsewhere described. 

The porter uttered a sort of a yell, which came' 
not amiss into his part, started up with his club, and 
dealt a sound douse or two on each side of him ; and 
then, like a coach-horse pricked by the spur, started 
off at once into the full career of his address, and 
by dint of active prompting on the part of Dickie 
Sludge, delivered, in sounds of gigantic intonation, 
a speech which may be thus abridged ; — the reader 
being to suppose that the first lines were addressed 
to the throng who approached the gateway ; the 
conclusion, at the approach of the Queen, upon 
sight of whom, as struck by some heavenly vision, 
the gigantic warder dropped his club, resigned his 
keys, and gave open way to the Goddess of the 
night, and all her magnificent train. 

“ What stir, what turmoil, have we for the nones ! 

Stand back, my masters, or beware your bones ! 

Sirs, I’m a warder, and no man of straw, 

My voice keeps order, and my club gives law. 

-'let soft — nay, stay — what vision have we here 
What dainty darling’s this — what peerless peer ? 

What loveliest face, that loving ranks enfold, 

Like brightest diamond chased in purest gold ? 


* 7 ® 


KENILWORTH. 


Dazzled and blind, mine office I forsake, 

My club, my key, my knee, my homage take. 

Bright paragon, pass on in joy and bliss ; — 

Beshrew the gate that opes not wide at such a sight as 
this ! ” 1 

Elizabeth received most graciously the homage 
of the Herculean porter, and, bending her head to 
him in requital, passed through his guarded tower, 
from the top of which was poured a clamorous blast 
of warlike music, which was replied to by other 
bands of minstrelsy placed at different points on the 
Castle walls, and by others again stationed in the 
Chase ; while the tones of the one, as they yet 
vibrated on the echoes, were caught up and an- 
swered by new harmony from different quarters. 

Amidst these bursts of music, which, as if the 
work of enchantment, seemed now close at hand, 
now softened by distant space, now wailing so low 
and sweet as if that distance were gradually pro- 
longed until only the last lingering strains could 
reach the ear, Queen Elizabeth crossed the Gallery- 
tower, and came upon the long bridge, which ex- 
tended from thence to Mortimer’s Tower, and which 
was already as light as day, so many torches had 
been fastened to the palisades on either side. Most 
of the nobles here alighted, and sent their hoyses to 
the neighbouring village of Kenilworth, following 
the Queen on foot, as did the gentlemen who had 
stood in array to receive her at the Gallery-tower. 

On this occasion, as at different times during the 
evening, Kaleigh addressed himself to Tressilian, 

1 This is an imitation of Gascoigne’s verses spoken by the Her- 
culean porter, as mentioned in the text. The original may be 
found in the republication of the Princely Pleasures of Kenil- 
worth, by the same author, in the History of Kenilworth, already 
quoted. Chiswick, 1821. 


\ 




KENILWORTH. 


*79 


and was not a little surprised at his vague and un- 
satisfactory answers ; which, joined to his leaving 
his apartment without any assigned reason, appear- 
ing in an undress when it was likely to be offensive 
to the Queen, and some other symptoms of irregu- 
larity which he thought he discovered, led him to 
doubt whether his friend did not labour under some 
temporary derangement. 

Meanwhile, the Queen had no sooner stepped on 
the bridge than a new spectacle was provided ; for 
as soon as the music gave signal that she was so far 
advanced, a raft, so disposed as to resemble a small 
floating island, illuminated by a great variety of 
torches, and surrounded by floating pageants formed 
to represent sea-horses, on which sat Tritons, Nereids, 
and other fabulous deities of the seas and rivers, made 
its appearance upon the lake, and, issuing from be- 
hind a small heronry where it had been concealed, 
floated gently towards the farther end of the bridge. 

On the islet appeared a beautiful woman, clad in 
a watchet-coloured silken mantle, bound with a 
broad girdle, inscribed with characters like the phy- 
lacteries of the Hebrews. Her feet and arms were 
bare, but her wrists and ankles were adorned with 
gold bracelets of uncommon size. Amidst her long 
silky black hair, she- wore a crown or chaplet of 
artificial mistletoe, and bore in her hand a rod of 
ebony tipped with silver. Two nymphs attended on 
her, dressed in the same antique and mystical guise. 

The pageant was so well managed, that this Lady 
of the Floating Island, having performed her voyage 
with much picturesque effect, landed at Mortimer’s 
Tower with her two attendants, just as Elizabeth 
presented herself before that outwork. The strangei 
then, in a well-penned speech, announced herself as 


i8o 


KENILWORTH. 


that famous Lady of the Lake, renowned in the 
stories of King Arthur, who had nursed the youth 
of the redoubted Sir Lancelot, and whose beauty 
had proved too powerful both for the wisdom and 
the spells of the mighty Merlin. Since that early 
period she had remained possessed of her crystal 
dominions, she said, despite the various men of fame 
and might by whom Kenilworth had been succes- 
sively tenanted. The Saxons, the Danes, the Nor- 
mans, the Saintlowes, the Clintons, the Mountforts, 
the Mortimers, the Plantagenets, great though they 
were in arms and magnificence, had never, she said, 
caused her to raise her head from the waters which 
hid her crystal palace. But a greater than all these 
great names had now appeared, and she came in 
homage and duty to welcome the peerless Elizabeth 
to all sport, which the Castle and its environs, which 
lake or land, could afford. 

The Queen received this address also with great 
courtesy, and made answer in raillery, “We thought 
this lake had belonged to our own dominions, fair 
dame ; but since so famed a lady claims it for hers, 
we will be glad at some other time to have further 
communing with you touching our joint interests.” 

With this gracious answer the Lady of the Lake 
vanished, and Arion, who was amongst the maritime 
deities, appeared upon his dolphin. But Lambourne, 
who had taken upon him the part in the absence of 
Wayland, being chilled with remaining immersed 
in an element to which he was not friendly, having 
never got his speech by heart, and not having, like 
the porter, the advantage of a prompter, paid it off 
with impudence, tearing off his vizard, and swearing, 
“ Cogs bones ! he was none of Arion or Orion either, 
but honest Mike Lambourne. that had been drinking 


KENILWORTH. 


181 

her Majesty’s health from morning till midnight, 
and was come to bid her heartily welcome to Kenil- 
worth Castle.” 

This unpremeditated buffoonery answered the 
purpose probably better than the set speech would 
have done. The Queen laughed heartily, and swore 
(in her turn) that he had made the best speech she 
had heard that day. Lambourne, who instantly 
saw his jest had saved his bones, jumped on shore, 
gave his dolphin a kick, and declared he would 
never meddle with fish again, except at dinner. 

At the same time that the Queen was about to 
enter the Castle, that memorable discharge of fire- 
works by water and land took place, which Master 
Laneham, formerly introduced to the reader, has 
strained all his eloquence to describe. 

“ Such,” says the Clerk of the Council-chamber 
door, “ was the blaze of burning darts, the gleams of 
stars coruscant, the streams and hail of fiery sparks, 
lightnings of wildfire, and flight-shot of thunder- 
bolts, with continuance, terror, and vehemency, that 
the heavens thundered, the waters surged, and the 
earth shook ; and for my part, hardy as I am, it 
made me very vengeably afraid.” 1 

1 See Laneham’s Account of the Queen’s Entertainment at 
Killingworth Castle, in 1575, a very diverting tract, written by 
as great a coxcomb as ever blotted paper. (See vol. xxii., p. 311.) 
The original is extremely rare, but it has been twice reprinted , 
once in Mr. Nichols’s very curious and interesting collection of the 
Progresses and Public Processions of Queen Elizabeth, vol. i . ; 
and more lately in a beautiful antiquarian publication termed 
Kenilworth Illustrated, printed at Chiswick, for Meridew of Cov- 
entry, and Radcliffe of Birmingham. It contains reprints of 
Laneham’s Letter, Gascoigne’s Princely Progress, and other scarce 
pieces, annotated with accuracy and ability. The author takes 
the liberty to refer to this work as his authority for the account 
of the festivities. 


CHAPTER XIV. 


Nay, this is matter for the month of March, 

When hares are maddest. Either speak in reason, 
Giving cold argument the wall of passion, 

Or I break up the court. 

* Beaumont and Fletcher. 


It is by no means our purpose to detail minutely all 
the princely festivities of Kenilworth, after the 
fashion of Master Robert Laneham, whom we quoted 
in the conclusion of the last chapter. It is suffi- 
cient to say, that under discharge of the splendid 
fireworks, which we have borrowed Laneham’s elo- 
quence to describe, the Queen entered the base-court 
of Kenilworth, through Mortimer’s Tower, and mov- 
ing on through pageants of heathen gods and heroes 
of antiquity, who offered gifts and compliments on 
the bended knee, at length found her way to the 
great hall of the Castle, gorgeously hung for her re- 
ception with the richest silken tapestry, misty with 
perfumes, and sounding to strains of soft and deli- 
cious music. From the highly carved oaken roof 
hung a superb chandelier of gilt bronze, formed like 
a spread eagle, whose outstretched wings supported 
three male and three female figures, grasping a pair 
of branches in each hand. The hall was thus illum- 
inated by twenty-four torches of wax. At the upper 
end of the splendid apartment was a state canopy, 
overshadowing a royal throne, and beside it was a 
door, which opened to a long suite of apartments, 


KENILWORTH. 


183 


decorated with the utmost magnificence for the 
Queen and her ladies, whenever it should be her 
pleasure to be private. 

The Earl of Leicester having handed the Queen 
up to her throne, and seated her there, knelt down 
before her, and kissing the hand which she held 
out, with an air in which romantic and respectful 
gallantry was happily mingled with the air of loyal 
devotion, he thanked her, in terms of the deepest 
gratitude, for the highest honour which a sovereign 
could render to a subject. So handsome did he 
look when kneeling before her, that Elizabeth was 
tempted to prolong the scene a little longer than 
there was, strictly speaking, necessity for ; and ere 
she raised him, she passed her hand over his head, 
so near, as almost to touch his long curled and per- 
fumed hair, and with a movement of fondness, that 
seemed to intimate she would, if she dared, have 
made the motion a slight caress . 1 

She at length raised him, and, standing beside 
the throne, he explained to her t'he various prepara- 
tions which had been made for her amusement and 
accommodation, all of which received her prompt 
and gracious approbation. The Earl then prayed 
her Majesty for permission, that he himself, and the 

1 To justify what may be considered as a high-coloured picture, 
the author quotes the original of the courtly and shrewd Sir 
James Melville, being then Queen Mary’s envoy at the Court of 
London. 

“ I was required,” says Sir James, “ to stay till I had seen him 
made Earle of Leicester, and Baron of Denbigh, with great solem- 
nity; herself (Elizabeth) helping to put on his ceremonial, he sit- 
ting on his knees before her, keeping a great gravity and a discreet 
behaviour ; but she could not refrain from putting her hand to his 
neck to kittle (i, e. tickle) him, smilingly, the French Ambassador 
and I standing beside her.” — Melville’s Memoirs , Bannatynt 
Edition, p. 120. 


184 


KENILWORTH. 


nobles who had been in attendance upon her during 
the journey, might retire for a few minutes, and put 
themselves into a guise more fitting for dutiful at- 
tendance, during which space, those gentlemen of 
worship (pointing to Varney, Blount, Tressilian, 
and others,) who had already put themselves into 
fresh attire, would have the honour of keeping her 
presence-chamber. 

“ Be it so, my lord,” answered the Queen ; “ you 
could manage a theatre well, who can thus com- 
mand a double set of actors. For ourselves, we will 
receive your courtesies this evening but clownishly, 
since it is not our purpose to change our riding at- 
tire, being in effect something fatigued with a jour- 
ney, which the concourse of our good people hath 
rendered slow, though the love they have shown our 
person hath, at the same time, made it delightful.” 

Leicester, having received this permission, retired 
accordingly, and was followed by those nobles who 
had attended the Queen to Kenilworth in person. 
The gentlemen who had preceded them, and were 
of course dressed for the solemnity, remained in 
attendance. But being most of them of rather infe- 
rior rank, they remained at an awful distance from 
the throne which Elizabeth occupied. The Queen’s 
sharp eye soon distinguished Raleigh amongst them, 
with one or two others who were personally known 
to her, and she instantly made them a sign to ap- 
proach, and accosted them very graciously. Ra- 
leigh, in particular, the adventure of whose cloak, 
as well as the incident of the verses, remained on 
her mind, was very graciously received ; and to him 
she most frequently applied for information con- 
cerning the names and rank of those who were in 
presence. These he communicated concisely, and 


KENILWORTH. 


185 

not without some traits of humorous satire, by 
which Elizabeth seemed much amused. “And who 
is yonder clownish fellow?” she said, looking at 
Tressilian, whose soiled dress on this occasion 
greatly obscured his good mien. 

“ A poet, if it please your Grace,” replied Raleigh. 

“I might have guessed that from his careless 
garb,” said Elizabeth. “ I have known some poets 
so thoughtless as to throw their cloaks into gutters.” 

“ It must have been when the sun dazzled both 
their eyes and their judgment,” answered Raleigh. 

Elizabeth smiled, and proceeded, — “I asked that 
slovenly fellow’s name, and you only told me his 
profession.” 

“ Tressilian is his name,” said Raleigh, with in- 
ternal reluctance, for he foresaw nothing favourable 
to his friend from the manner in which she took 
notice of him. 

“ Tressilian ! ” answered Elizabeth. “ 0, the Men- 
elaus of our romance. Why, he has dressed him- 
self in a guise that will go far to exculpate his fair 
and false Helen. And where is Farnham, or what- 
ever his name is — my Lord of Leicester’s man, I 
mean — the Paris of this Devonshire tale ? ” 

With still greater reluctance Raleigh named and 
pointed out to her Varney, for whom the tailor had 
done all that art could perform in making his exte- 
rior agreeable ; and who, if he had not grace, had 
a sort of tact and habitual knowledge of breeding, 
which came in place of it. 

The Queen turned her eye from the one to the 
other — “I doubt,” she said, “ this same poetical 
Master Tressilian, who is too learned, I warrant 
me, to remember what presence he was to appear 
in, may be one of those of whom Geoffrey Chaucer 


i86 


KENILWORTH. 


says wittily, the wisest clerks are not the wisest 
men. I remember that Varney is a smooth-tongued 
varlet. I doubt this fair runaway hath had reasons 
for breaking her faith.” 

To this Raleigh durst make no answer, aware 
how little he should benefit Tressilian by contra- 
dicting the Queen’s sentiments, and not at all cer- 
tain, on the whole, whether the best thing that 
could befall him, would not be that she should put 
an end at once by her authority to this affair, upon 
which it seemed to him Tressilian’s thoughts were 
fixed with unavailing and distressing pertinacity. As 
these reflections passed through his active brain, the 
lower door was opened, and Leicester, accompanied 
by several of his kinsmen, and of the nobles who had 
embraced his faction, re-entered the Castle-hall. 

The favourite Earl was now apparelled all in 
white, his shoes being of white velvet ; his under- 
stocks (or stockings) of knit silk ; his upper stocks 
of white velvet, lined with cloth of silver, which 
was shown at the slashed part of the middle thigh ; 
his doublet of cloth of silver, the close jerkin of 
white velvet, embroidered with silver and seed- 
pearl, his girdle and the scabbard of his sword of 
white velvet with golden buckles ; his poniard and 
sword hilted and mounted with gold ; and over all, 
a rich loose robe of white satin, with a border of 
golden embroidery a foot in breadth. The collar of 
the Garter, and the azure Garter itself around his 
knee, completed the appointments of the Earl of 
Leicester ; which were so well matched by his fair 
stature, graceful gesture, fine proportion of body, 
and handsome countenance, that at that moment 
he was admitted by all who saw him, as the good- 
liest person whom they had ever looked upon. 


KENILWORTH. 


187 


Sussex and the other nobles were also richly at- 
tired, but, in point of splendour and gracefulness of 
mien, Leicester far exceeded them all. 

Elizabeth received him with great complacency. 
“ We have one piece of royal justice,” she said, “ to 
attend to. It is a piece of justice, too, which inter- 
ests us as a woman, as well as in the character of 
mother and guardian of the English people.” 

An involuntary shudder came over Leicester, as 
he bowed low, expressive of his readiness to receive 
her royal commands ; and a similar cold fit came 
over Varney, whose eyes (seldom during that even- 
ing removed from his patron) instantly perceived, 
from the change in his looks, slight as that was, of 
what the Queen was speaking. But Leicester had 
wrought his resolution up to the point which, in his 
crooked policy, he judged necessary ; and when Eliza- 
beth added — “It is of the matter of Varney and 
Tressilian we speak — is the lady in presence, my 
lord ? ” His answer was ready : — “ Gracious ma- 
dam, she is not.” 

Elizabeth bent her brows and compressed her lips. 
“ Our orders were strict and positive, my lord,” was 
her answer 

“ And should have been obeyed, good my liege,” 
replied Leicester, “ had they been expressed in the 
form of the lightest wish. But — Varney, step for- 
ward — this gentleman will inform your Grace of the 
cause why the lady ” (he could not force his rebel-* 
lious tongue to utter the words — his wife) “ cannot 
attend on your royal presence.” 

Varney advanced, and pleaded with readiness, what 
indeed he firmly believed, the absolute incapacity of 
the party (for neither did he dare, in Leicester’s pre- 
sence, term her his wife) to wait on her Grace. 


KENILWORTH. 


1 88 

“Here,” said he, “are attestations from a most 
learned physician, whose skill and honour are well 
known to my good Lord of Leicester ; and from an 
honest and devout Protestant, a man of credit and 
substance, one Anthony Foster, the gentleman in 
whose house she is at present bestowed, that she 
now labours under an illness which altogether unfits 
her for such a journey as betwixt this Castle and the 
neighbourhood of Oxford.” 

“ This alters the matter,” said the Queen, taking 
the certificates in her hand, and glancing at their 
contents — “ Let Tressilian come forward. — Master 
Tressilian, we have much sympathy for your situa- 
tion, the rather that you seem to have set your heart 
deeply on this Amy Robsart, or V arney. Our power, 
thanks to God, and the willing obedience of a loving 
people, is worth much, but there are some things 
which it cannot compass. We cannot, for example, 
command the affections of a giddy young girl, or 
make her love sense and learning better than a court- 
ier’s fine doublet ; and we cannot control sickness, 
with which it seems this lady is afflicted, who may 
not, by reason of such infirmity, attend our court 
here, as we had required her to do. Here are the 
testimonials of the physician who hath her under 
his charge, and the gentleman in whose house she 
resides, so setting forth.” 

“ Under your Majesty’s favour,” said Tressilian 
hastily, and, in his alarm for the consequence of the 
imposition practised on the Queen, forgetting, in part 
at least, his own promise to Amy, “ these certificates 
speak not the truth.” 

“ How, sir ! ” said the Queen, — “ Impeach my 
Lord of Leicester’s veracity ! But you shall have a 
fair hearing. In our presence the meanest of our 


KENILWORTH. 


189 

subjects shall be heard against the proudest, and the 
least known against the most favoured ; therefore 
you shall be heard fairly, but beware you speak not 
without a warrant ! Take these certificates in your 
own hand ; look at them carefully, and say manfully 
if you impugn the truth of them, and upon what 
evidence.” 

As the Queen spoke, his promise and all its con- 
sequences rushed on the mind of the unfortunate 
Tressilian, and while it controlled his natural in- 
clination to pronounce that a falsehood which he 
knew from the evidence of his senses to be untrue, 
gave an indecision and irresolution to his appear- 
ance and utterance, which made strongly against him 
in the mind of Elizabeth, as well as of all who be- 
held him. He turned the papers over and over, as 
if he had been an idiot, incapable of comprehending 
their contents. The Queen’s impatience began to 
become visible. — “You are a scholar, sir,” she said, 
“ and of some note, as I have heard ; yet you seem 
wondrous slow in reading text hand — How say you, 
are these certificates true or no ? ” 

“ Madam,” said Tressilian, with obvious embar- 
rassment and hesitation, anxious to avoid admitting 
evidence which he might afterwards have reason to 
confute, yet equally desirous to keep his word to 
Amy, and to give her, as he had promised, space 
to plead her own cause in her own way — “ Madam 
— Madam, your Grace calls on me to admit evidence 
which ought to be proved valid by those who found 
their defence upon it.” 

“ Why, Tressilian, thou art critical as well as poet- 
ical,” said the Queen, bending on him a brow of dis- 
pleasure ; “ methinks these writings, being produced 
in the presence of the noble Earl to whom this 


KENILWORTH. 


igd 

Castle pertains, and liis honour being appealed to as 
the guarantee of their authenticity, might be evi- 
dence enough for thee. But since thou lists to be so 
formal — Varney, or rather my Lord of Leicester, 
for the affair becomes yours,” (these words, though 
spoken at random, thrilled through the Earl’s mar- 
row and bones,) “ what evidence have you as touch- 
ing these certificates ? ” 

Varney hastened to reply, preventing Leicester, 
— “ So please your Majesty, my young Lord of Ox- 
ford, who is here in presence, knows Master An- 
thony Foster’s hand and his character.” 

The Earl of Oxford, a young unthrift, whom Fos- 
ter had more than once accommodated with loans 
on usurious interest, acknowledged, on this appeal, 
that he knew him as a wealthy and indepen- 
dent franklin, supposed to be worth much money, 
and verified the certificate produced to be his 
handwriting. 

“ And who speaks to the Doctor’s certificate ? ” 
said the Queen. “ Alasco, methinks, is his name.” 

Masters, her Majesty’s physician, (not the less 
willingly that he remembered his repulse from Say’s 
Court, and thought that his present testimony might 
gratify Leicester, and mortify the Earl of Sussex and 
his faction,) acknowledged he had more than once 
consulted with Doctor Alasco, and spoke of him as 
a man of extraordinary learning and hidden acquire- 
ments, though not altogether in the regular course 
of practice. The Earl of Huntingdon, Lord Leices- 
ter’s brother-in-law, and the old Countess of Rut- 
land, next sang his praises, and both remembered 
the thin beautiful Italian hand in which he was 
wont to write his receipts, and which corresponded 
to the certificate produced as his. 


KENILWORTH. 


* 0 * 

" And now, I trust, Master Tressilian, this matter 
is ended,” said the Queen. “ We will do something 
ere the night is older to reconcile old Sir Hugh 
Robsart to the match. You have done your duty 
something more than boldly ; but we were no wo- 
man had we not compassion for the wounds which 
true love deals ; so we forgive your audacity, and 
your uncleansed boots withal, which have wellnigh 
overpowered my Lord of Leicester’s perfumes. 

So spoke Elizabeth, whose nicety of scent was 
one of the characteristics of her organization, as ap- 
peared long afterwards when she expelled Essex 
from her presence, on a charge against his boots 
similar to that which she now expressed against 
those of Tressilian. 

But Tressilian had by this time collected himself, 
astonished as he had at first been by the audacity 
of the falsehood so feasibly supported, and placed 
in array against the evidence of his own eyes. He 
rushed forward, kneeled down, and caught the 
Queen by the skirt of her robe. “As you are 
Christian woman,” he said, “ madam, as you are 
crowned Queen, to do equal justice among your sub- 
jects — as you hope yourself to have fair hearing 
(which God grant you) at that last bar at which we 
must all plead, grant me one small request ! Decide 
not this matter so hastily. Give me but twenty- 
four hours’ interval, and I will, at the end of that 
brief space, produce evidence which will show to 
demonstration, that these certificates, which state 
this unhappy lady to be now ill at ease in Oxford- 
shire, are false as hell ! ” 

“Let go my train, sir!” said Elizabeth, who was 
startled at his vehemence, though she had too much 
of lion in her to fear ; “the fellow must be dis- 


192 


KENILWORTH. 


traught — that witty knave, my godson Harrington, 
must have him into his rhymes of Orlando Furioso ! 
— And yet, by this light, there is something strange 
in the vehemence of his demand. — Speak, Tressi- 
lian ; what wilt thou do if, at the end of these four- 
and-twenty hours, thou canst not confute a fact so 
solemnly proved as this lady’s illness ? ” 

“ I will lay down my head on the block,” answered 
Tressilian. 

“ Pshaw ! ” replied the Queen. “ God’s light ! thou 
speak’st like a fool. What head falls in England 
but by just sentence of English law ? — I ask thee, 
man — if thou hast sense to understand me — wilt 
thou, if thou shalt fail in this improbable attempt 
of thine, render me a good and sufficient reason why 
thou dost undertake it ? ” 

Tressilian paused, and again hesitated ; because he 
felt convinced, that if, within the interval demanded, 
Amy should become reconciled to her husband, he 
would in that case do her the worst of offices by 
again ripping up the whole circumstances before 
Elizabeth, and showing how that wise and jealous 
princess had been imposed upon by false testi- 
monials. The consciousness of this dilemma re- 
newed his extreme embarrassment of look, voice, 
and manner ; he hesitated, looked down, and on the 
Queen repeating her question with a stern voice and 
flashing eye, he admitted with faltering words, “ That 
it might be — he could not positively — that is, in 
certain events — explain the reasons and grounds 
on which he acted.” 

“ Now, by the soul of King Henry,” said the 
Queen, “ this is either moonstruck madness, or very 
knavery! — Seest thou, Raleigh, thy friend is far 
too Pindaric for this presence. Have him away, and 


KENiL WORTH. 


*93 


make us quit of him, or it shall he the worse for 
him ; for his flights are too unbridled for any place 
hut Parnassus, or Saint Luke’s Hospital. But come 
hack instantly thyself, when he is placed under fit- 
ting restraint. — We wish we had seen the beauty 
which could make such havoc in a wise man’s 
brain.” 

Tressilian was again endeavouring to address the 
Queen, when Raleigh, in obedience to the orders 
he had received, interfered, and, with Blount’s 
assistance, half led, half forced him out of the 
presence-chamber, where he himself indeed began 
to think his appearance did his cause more harm 
than good. 

When they had attained the antechamber, Raleigh 
entreated Blount to see Tressilian safely conducted 
into the apartments allotted to the Earl of Sussex’s 
followers, and, if necessary, recommended that a 
guard should be mounted on him. 

“ This extravagant passion,” he said, “ and, as it 
would seem, the news of the lady’s illness, has 
utterly wrecked his excellent judgment. But it 
will pass away if he be kept quiet. Only let him 
b^eak forth again at no rate ; for he is already far 
in her Highness’s displeasure, and should she be 
again provoked, she will find for him a worse place 
of confinement, and sterner keepers.” 

“ I judged as much as that he was mad,” said 
Nicholas Blount, looking down upon his own crim- 
son stockings and yellow roses, “whenever I saw 
him wearing yonder damned boots, which stunk so 
in her nostrils. — I will but see him stowed, and be 
back with you presently. — But, Walter, did the 
Queen ask who I was ? — methought she glanced an 
eye at me.” 


1 94 


KENILWORTH. 


“ Twenty — twenty eye-glances she sent, and I 
told her all how thou wert a brave soldier, and a 
But, for God’s sake, get off Tressilian ! ” 

“ I will — I will,” said Blount ; “ but methinks 
this court-haunting is no such bad pastime, after 
all. We shall rise by it, Walter, my brave lad. , 
Thou said’st I was a good soldier, and a — What 
besides, dearest Walter?” 

“An all unutterable — codshead. — For God’s 
sake begone ! ” 

Tressilian, without farther resistance or expos- 
tulation, followed, or rather suffered himself to be 
conducted by Blount to Baleigli’s lodgings, where 
he was formally installed into a small truckle-bed, 
placed in a wardrobe, and designed for a domestic. ; 
He saw but too plainly that no remonstrances would 
avail to procure the help or sympathy of his friends, 
until the lapse of the time for which he had pledged 
himself to remain inactive, should enable him either 
to explain the whole circumstances to them, or re- 
move from him every pretext or desire of farther 
interference with the fortunes of Amy, by her hav- 
ing found means to place herself in a state of recon- 
ciliation with her husband. % 

With great difficulty, and only by the most pa- 
tient and mild remonstrances with Blount , he es- 
caped the disgrace and mortification of having two of 
Sussex’s stoutest yeomen quartered in his apart- 
ment. At last, however, when Nicholas had seen 
him fairly deposited in his truckle-bed, and had 
bestowed one or two hearty kicks, and as hearty 
curses, on the boots, which, in his lately acquired 
spirit of foppery, he considered as a strong symp- 
tom, if not the cause, of his friend’s malady, he con- 
tented himself with the modified measure of locking 


KENILWORTH. 


195 


the door on the unfortunate Tressilian ; whose gal- 
lant and disinterested efforts to save a female who 
had treated him with ingratitude, thus terminated, 
for the present, in the displeasure of his Sovereign, 
and the conviction of his friends that he was little 
better than a madman. 


CHAPTER XV. 


The wisest Sovereigns err like private men, 

And royal hand has sometimes laid the sword 
Of chivalry upon a worthless shoulder, 

Which better had been branded by the hangman. 

What then? — Kings do their best — and they and we 
Must answer for the intent, and not the event. 

Old Play. 


“It is a melancholy matter,” said the Queen, 
when Tressilian was withdrawn, “ to see a wise and 
learned man’s wit thus pitifully unsettled. Yet this 
public display of his imperfection of brain plainly 
shows us that his supposed injury and accusation 
were fruitless ; and therefore, my Lord of Leices- 
ter, we remember your suit formerly made to us in 
behalf of your faithful servant Varney, whose good 
gifts and fidelity, as they are useful to you, ought 
to have due reward from us, knowing well that your 
lordship, and all you have, are so earnestly devoted 
to our service. And we render Varney the honour 
more especially, that we are a guest, and we fear a 
chargeable and troublesome one, under your lord- 
ship’s roof ; and also for the satisfaction of the good 
old Knight of Devon, Sir Hugh Robsart, whose 
daughter he hath married ; and we trust the espe- 
cial mark of grace which we are about to confer, 
may reconcile him to his son-in-law. — Your sword, 
my Lord of Leicester.” 

The Earl unbuckled his sword, and, taking it by 
the point, presented on bended knee the hilt to 
Elizabeth. 




KENILWORTH. 


197 


She took it slowly, drew it from the scabbard, 
and while the ladies who stood around turned away 
their eyes with real or affected shuddering, she 
noted with a curious eye the high polish and rich 
damasked ornaments upon the glittering blade. 

“ Had I been a man,” she said, “ methinks none 
of my ancestors would have loved a good sword 
better. As it is with me, I like to look on one, and 
could, like the Fairy, of whom I have read in some 
Italian rhymes — were my godson Harrington here, 
he could tell me the passage 1 — even trim my hair, 
and arrange my head-gear, in such a steel mirror 
as this is. — Richard Varney, come forth, and kneel 
down. In the name of God and Saint George, we 
dub thee knight ! Be Faithful, Brave, and Fortu- 
nate. — Arise, Sir Richard Varney.” 

Varney arose and retired, making a deep obei- 
sance to the Sovereign who had done him so much 
honour. 

1 The incident alluded to occurs in the poem of Orlando In- 
namorato of Boiardo, libro ii. canto 4, stanza 25. 

“ Non era per ventura,” &c. 

It may be rendered thus : — 

As then, perchance, unguarded was the tower, 

So enter’d free Anglante’s dauntless knight. 

No monster and no giant guard the bower 
In whose recess reclined the fairy light, 

Robed in a loose cymar of lily white, 

And on her lap a sword of breadth and might, 

In whose broad blade, as in a mirror bright, 

Like maid that trims her for a festal night, 

The fairy deck’d her hair, and placed her coronet aright. 

Elizabeth’s attachment to the Italian school of poetry was sin- 
gularly manifested on a well-known occasion. Her godson, Sir 
John Harrington, having offended her delicacy by translating 
some of the licentious passages of the Orlando Furioso, she im- 
posed on him, as a penance, the task of rendering the whole poem 
into English. 


198 


KENILWORTH. 


“ The buckling of the spur, and what other rites 
remain,” said the Queen, “ may be finished to-mor- 
row in the chapel ; for we intend Sir Richard Var- 
ney a companion in his honours. And as we must 
not be partial in conferring such distinction, we 
mean on this matter to confer with our cousin of 


Sussex.” 

That noble Earl, who since his arrival at Kenil- 
worth, and indeed since the commencement of this 
Progress, had found himself in a subordinate situa- 
tion to Leicester, was now wearing a heavy cloud 
on his brow — a circumstance which had not escaped 
the Queen, who hoped to appease his discontent, 
and to follow out her system of balancing policy by 
a mark of peculiar favour, the more gratifying as it 
was tendered at a moment when his rival’s triumph 
appeared to be complete. 

At the summons of Queen Elizabeth, Sussex 
hastily approached her person ; and being asked on 
which of his followers, being a gentleman and of 
merit, he would wish the honour of knighthood to 
be conferred, he answered, with more sincerity than 
policy, that he would have ventured to speak for 
Tressilian, to whom he conceived he owed his own 
life, and who was a distinguished soldier and scho- 
lar, besides a man of unstained lineage, “ only,” he 

said, “ he feared the events of that night ” And 

then he stopped. 

“I am glad your lordship is thus considerate,” 
said Elizabeth ; “ the events of this night would 
make us, in the eyes of our subjects, as mad as this 
poor brain-sick gentleman himself — for we ascribe 
his conduct to no malice — should we choose this 
moment to do him grace.” 

“ In that case,” said the Earl of Sussex, some- 


i 


KENILWORTH. 


199 


what discountenanced, “your Majesty will allow 
me to name my master of the horse, Master Nicho- 
las Blount, a gentleman of fair estate and ancient 
name, who has served your Majesty both in Scot- 
land and Ireland, and brought away bloody marks 
on his person, all honourably taken and requited/’ 

The Queen could not help shrugging her- shoul- 
ders slightly even at this second suggestion; arid 
the Duchess of Rutland, who read in the Queen’s 
manner that she had expected Sussex would have 
named Raleigh, and thus would have enabled her 
to gratify her own wish, while she honoured his 
recommendation, only waited the Queen’s assent 
to what he had proposed, and then said, that she 
hoped, since these two high nobles had been each 
permitted to suggest a candidate for the honours 
of chivalry, she, in behalf of the ladies in presence, 
might have a similar indulgence. 

“ I were no woman to refuse you such a boon,” 
said the Queen, smiling. 

“ Then,” pursued the Duchess, “ in the name of 
these fair ladies present, I request your Majesty to 
confer the rank of knighthood on Walter Raleigh, 
whose birth, deeds of arms, and promptitude to 
serve our sex with sword or pen, deserve such dis- 
tinction from us all.” 

“Gramercy, fair ladies,” said Elizabeth, smiling, 
“ your boon is granted, and the gentle squire Lack- 
Cloak shall become the good knight Lack-Cloak, at 
your desire. Let the two aspirants for the honour 
of chivalry step forward.” 

Blount was not as yet returned from seeing Tres- 
ailian, as he conceived, safely disposed of ; but Ra- 
leigh came forth, and, kneeling down, received at 
the hand of the Virgin Queen that title of honour, 


200 


KENILWORTH. 


which was never conferred on a more distinguished 
or more illustrious object. 

Shortly afterwards Nicholas Blount entered, and, | 
hastily apprized by Sussex, who met him at the door 
of the hall, of the Queen’s gracious purpose regarding 
him, he was desired to advance towards the throne. ! 
It is a sight sometimes seen, and it is both ludicrous 
and pitiable, when an honest man of plain common 
sense is surprised, by the coquetry of a pretty woman, 
or any other cause, into those frivolous fopperies 
which only sit well upon the youthful, the gay, 
and those to whom long practice has rendered them 
a second nature. Poor Blount was in this situation. 
His head was already giddy from a consciousness of 
unusual finery, and the supposed necessity of suit- 
ing his manners to the gaiety of his dress ; and 
now this sudden view of promotion altogether com- 
pleted the conquest of the newly inhaled spirit of 
foppery over his natural disposition, and converted 
a plain, honest, awkward man, into a coxcomb of a 
new and most ridiculous kind. 

The knight-expectant advanced up the hall, the 
whole length of which he had unfortunately to trav- 
erse, turning out his toes with so much zeal, that 
he presented his leg at every step with its broad- 
side foremost, so that it greatly resembled an old- 
fashioned table-knife with a curved point, when seen 
sideways. The rest of his gait was in correspondence 
with this unhappy amble ; and the implied mixture 
of bashful fear, and self-satisfaction, was so unutter- 
ably ridiculous, that Leicester’s friends did not sup- 
press a titter, in which many of Sussex’s partisans 
were unable to resist joining, though ready to eat 
their nails with mortification. Sussex himself lost 
all patience, and could not forbear whispering into 


KENILWORTH. 


101 


the ear of his friend, “ Curse thee ! canst thou not 
walk like a man and a soldier?” an interjection 
which only made honest Blount start and stop, until 
a glance at his yellow roses and crimson stockings 
restored his self-confidence, when on he went at the 
same pace as before. 

The Queen conferred on poor Blount the honour 
of knighthood with a marked sense of reluctance. 
That wise Princess was fully aware of the propriety 
of using great circumspection and economy in be- 
stowing these titles of honour, which the Stewarts, 
who succeeded to her throne, distributed with an 
imprudent liberality, which greatly diminished their 
value. Blount had no sooner arisen and retired, 
than she turned to the Duchess of Rutland. “ Our 
woman wit,” she said, “ dear Rutland, is sharper 
than that of those proud things in doublet and 
hose. Seest thou, out of these three knights, thine 
is the only true metal to stamp chivalry’s imprint 
upon ? ” 

“Sir Richard Varney, surely — the friend of my 
Lord of Leicester — surely he has merit,” replied 
the Duchess. 

“Varney has a sly countenance, and a smooth 
tongue,” replied the Queen. “ I fear me, he will 
prove a knave — but the promise was of ancient 
standing. My Lord of Sussex must have lost his 
own wits, I think, to recommend to us first a mad- 
man like Tressilian, and then a clownish fool like 
this other fellow. I protest, Rutland, that while he 
sat on his knees before me, mopping and mowing 
as if he had scalding porridge in his mouth, I had 
much ado to forbear cutting him over the pate, 
instead of striking his shoulder.” 

« Your Majesty gave him a smart accolade” said 


202 


KENILWORTH. 


the Duchess ; “ we who stood behind heard the 
blade clatter on his collar-bone, and the poor man 
fidgeted too as if he felt it.” 

• “ I could not help it, wench,” said the Queen, 
laughing ; “ but we will have this same Sir Nicholas 
sent to Ireland or Scotland, or somewhere, to rid 
our court of so antic a chevalier ; he may be a good 
soldier in the field, though a preposterous ass in a 
banqueting-hall.” 

The discourse became then more general, and 
soon after there was a summons to the banquet. 

In order to obey this signal, the company were 
under the necessity of crossing the inner court of 
the Castle, that they might reach the new-build- 
ings, containing the large banqueting-room, in 
which preparations for supper were made upon a 
scale of profuse magnificence, corresponding to the 
occasion. 

The livery cupboards were loaded with plate of 
the richest description, and the most varied ; some 
articles tasteful, some perhaps grotesque, in the in- 
vention and decoration, but all gorgeously magnifi- 
cent, both from the richness of the work and value 
of the materials. Thus the chief table was adorned 
by a salt, ship-fashion, made of mother-of-pearl, gar- 
nished with silver and divers warlike ensigns, and 
other ornaments, anchors, sails, and sixteen pieces 
of ordnance. It bore a figure of Fortune, placed 
on a globe, with a flag in her hand. Another salt 
was fashioned of silver, in form of a swan in full 
sail. That chivalry might not be omitted amid this 
splendour, a silver Saint George was presented, 
mounted and equipped in the usual fashion in which 
he bestrides the dragon. The figures were moulded 
to be in some sort useful. The horse’s tail was 


KENILWORTH. 


203 


managed to hold a case of knives, while the breast 
of the dragon presented a similar accommodation 
for oyster knives. 

In the course of the passage from the hall of re- 
ception to the banqueting-room, and especially in 
the court-yard, the new-made knights were assailed 
by the heralds, pursuivants, minstrels, &c., with the 
usual cry of Largesse, largesse , chevaliers tres hardis ! 
an ancient invocation, intended to awaken the bounty 
of the acolytes of chivalry towards those whose busi- 
ness it was to register their armorial bearings, and 
celebrate the deeds by which they were illustrated. 
The call was of course liberally and courteously 
answered by those to whom it was addressed. 
Yarney gave his largesse with an affectation of 
complaisance and humility. * Raleigh bestowed his 
with the graceful ease peculiar to one who has at- 
tained his own place, and is familiar with its dignity. 
Honest Blount gave what his tailor had left him of 
his half year’s rent, dropping some pieces in his 
hurry, then stooping down to look for them, and 
then distributing them amongst the various claim- 
ants, with the anxious face and mien of the parish 
beadle dividing a dole among paupers. 

These donations were accepted with the usual 
clamour and vivats of applause common on such 
occasions ; but as the parties gratified were chiefly 
dependants of Lord Leicester, it was Yarney whose 
name was repeated with the loudest acclamations 
Lambourne, especially, distinguished himself by his 
vociferations of “Long life to Sir Richard Varney ! 
— Health and honour to Sir Richard ! — Never was 
a more worthy knight dubbed ! ” — then, suddenly 
sinking his voice, he added, — “ since the valiant 
Sir Pandarus of Troy,” — a winding-up of his clam- 


204 


KENILWORTH. 


orous applause, which set all men a-laughing who 
were within hearing of it. 

It is unnecessary to say any thing farther of the 
festivities of the evening, which were so brilliant 
in themselves, and received with such obvious and 
willing satisfaction by the Queen, that Leicester 
retired to his own apartment, with all the giddy 
raptures of successful ambition. Varney, who had 
changed his splendid attire, and now waited on his 
patron in a very modest and plain undress, attended 
to do the honours of the Earl’s coucher. 

“ How ! Sir Richard,” said Leicester, smiling, 
“ your new rank scarce suits the humility of this 
attendance.” 

“ I would disown that rank, my lord,” said 
Varney, “could I think it was to remove me to a 
distance from your lordship’s person.” 

“Thou art a grateful fellow,” said Leicester; “but 
I must not allow you to do what would abate you 
in the opinion of others.” 

While thus speaking, he still accepted, without 
hesitation, the offices about his person, which the 
new-made knight seemed to render as eagerly as 
if he had really felt, in discharging the task, that 
pleasure which his words expressed. 

“ I am not afraid of men’s misconstruction,” he 
said, in answer to Leicester’s remark, “ since there 
is not — (permit me to undo the collar) — a man 
within the Castle, who does not expect very soon 
to see persons of a rank far superior to that which, 
by your goodness, I now hold, rendering the duties 
of the bedchamber to you, and accounting it an 
honour.” 

“ It might, indeed, so have been ” — said the Earl, 
with an involuntary sigh ; and then presently added, 


KENILWORTH. 


205 


“My gown, Varney — I will look out on the night. 
Is not the moon near to the full ? ” 

“ I think so, my lord, according to the calendar,” 
answered Varney. 

There was an abutting window, which opened on 
a small projecting balcony of stone, battlemented as 
is usual in Gothic castles. The Earl undid the lat- 
tice, and stepped out into the open air. The station 
he had chosen commanded an extensive view of the 
lake, and woodlands beyond, where the bright moon- 
light rested on the clear blue waters, and the distant 
masses of oak and elm trees. The moon rode high 
in the heavens, attended by thousands and thou- 
sands of inferior luminaries. All seemed already 
to be hushed in the nether world, excepting occa- 
sionally the voice of the watch, (for the yeomen of 
the guard performed that duty wherever the Queen 
was present in person,) and the distant baying of 
the hounds, disturbed by the preparations amongst 
the grooms and prickers for a magnificent hunt 
which was to be the amusement of the next day. 

Leicester looked out on the blue arch of heaven, 
with gestures and a countenance expressive of anx- 
ious exultation, while Varney, who remained within 
the darkened apartment, could, (himself unnoticed,) 
with a secret satisfaction, see his patron stretch 
his hands with earnest gesticulation towards the 
heavenly bodies. 

“Ye distant orbs of living fire,” so ran the mut- 
tered invocation of the ambitious Earl, “ ye are silent 
while you wheel your mystic rounds, but Wisdom 
has given to you a voice. Tell me, then, to what 
end is my high course destined ! Shall the greatness 
to which I have aspired be bright, pre-eminent, and 
stable as your own ; or am I but doomed to draw a 


20 6 


KENILWORTH. 


brief and glittering train along the nightly darkness, 
and then to sink down to earth, like the base refuse 
of those artificial fires with which men emulate your 
rays ? ” 

He looked on the heavens in profound silence for 
a minute or two longer, and then again stepped into 
the apartment, where Varney seemed to have been 
engaged in putting the Earl’s jewels into a casket. 

“ What said Alasco of my horoscope ? ” demanded 
Leicester. “ You already told me, but it has escaped 
me, for I think but lightly of that art.” 

“ Many learned and great men have thought 
otherwise,” said Varney ; “ and, not to flatter your 
lordship, my own opinion leans that way.” 

“ Ay, Saul among the prophets ? ” said Leicester 

— “I thought thou wert sceptical in all such mat- 
ters as thou couldst neither see, hear, smell, taste, 
or touch, and that thy belief was limited by thy 
senses.” 

“ Perhaps, my lord,” said Varney, “ I may be 
misled on the present occasion, by my wish to find 
the predictions of astrology true. Alasco says, that 
your favourite planet is culminating, and that the 
adverse influence — he would not use a plainer term 

— though not overcome, was evidently combust, I 
think he said, or retrograde.” 

“ It is even so,” said Leicester, looking at an 
abstract of astrological calculations which he had in 
his hand ; “ the stronger influence will prevail, and, 
as I think, the evil hour pass away. — Lend me your 
hand, Sir Richard, to doff my gown — and remain an 
instant, if it is not too burdensome to your knight- 
hood, while I compose myself to sleep. I believe 
the bustle of this day has fevered my blood, for it 
streams through my veins like a current of molten 


KENILWORTH. 


20 7 


lead — remain an instant, I pray you — I would fain 
feel my eyes heavy ere I closed them.” 

Varney officiously assisted his lord to bed, and 
placed a massive silver night-lamp, with a short 
sword, on a marble table which stood close by the 
head of the couch. Either in order to avoid the light 
of the lamp, or to hide his countenance from Varney, 
Leicester drew the curtain, heavy with entwined 
silk and gold, so 1 as completely to shade his face. 
Varney took a seat near the bed, but with his back 
towards his master, as if to intimate that he was 
not watching him, and quietly waited till Leicester 
himself led the way to the topic by which his mind 
was engrossed. 

“ And so, Varney,” said the Earl, after waiting 
in vain till his dependant should commence the con- 
versation, “ men talk of the Queen’s favour towards 
me?” 

“Ay, my good lord,” said Varney; “of >vdiat 
can they else, since it is so strongly manifested ? ” 

“ She is indeed my good and gracious mistress,” 
said Leicester, after another pause ; “ but it is writ- 
ten, ‘ Put not thy trust in Princes.’ ” 

“A good sentence and a true,” said Varney, 
“ unless you can unite their interest with yours so 
absolutely, that they must needs sit on your wrist 
like hooded hawks.” 

“ I know what thou meanest,” said Leicester, im- 
patiently, “ though thou art to-night so prudentially 
careful of what thou sayst to me — Thou wouldst 
intimate, I might marry the Queen if I would ? ” 

“ It is your speech, my lord, not mine,” answered 
Varney; “hut whose soever be the speech, it is 
the thought of ninety-nine out of an hundred meit 
throughout broad England.” 


2o8 


KENILWORTH. 


“ Ay, but,” said Leicester, turning himself in his 
bed, “the hundredth man knows better. Thou, 
for example, knowest the obstacle that cannot be 
overleaped.” 

“ It must, my lord, if the stars speak true,” said 
Varney, composedly. 

“ What ! talk’st thou of them,” said Leicester, 
“ that believest not in them or in aught else ? ” 

“You mistake, my lord, under your gracious 
pardon,” said Varney; “I believe in many things 
that predict the future. I believe, if showers fall in 
April, that we shall have flowers in May ; that if the 
sun shines, grain will ripen ; and I believe in much 
natural philosophy to the same effect, which, if the 
stars swear to me, I will say the stars speak the 
truth. And in like manner, I will not disbelieve 
that which I see wished for and expected on earth, 
solely because the astrologers have read it in the 
heavens.” 

“Thou art right,” said Leicester, again tossing 
himself on his couch — “ Earth does wish for it. I 
have had advices from the reformed churches of 
Germany — from the Low Countries — from Swit- 
zerland, urging this as a point on which Europe’s 
safety depends. France will not oppose it — The 
ruling party in Scotland look to it as their best se- 
curity — Spain fears it, but cannot prevent it — and 
yet thou knowest it is impossible.’' 

“I know not that, my lord,” said Varney, “the 
Countess is indisposed.” 

“Villain!” said Leicester, starting up on his 
couch, and seizing the sword which lay on the table 
beside him, “ go thy thoughts that way ? — thou 
wouldst not do murder ! ” 

“For whom, or what, do you hold me, my lord?” 


KENILWORTH. 


209 


said Varney, assuming the superiority of an inno- 
cent man subjected to unjust suspicion. “ I said 
nothing to deserve such a horrid imputation as your 
violence infers. I said but that the Countess was ill. 
And Countess though she be — lovely and beloved 
as she is, surely your lordship must hold her to be 
mortal ? She may die, and your lordship’s hand 
become once more your own.” 

“ Away ! away ! ” said Leicester ; “ let me have 
no more of this.” 

“ Good night, my lord,” said Varney, seeming 
to understand this as a command to depart ; but 
Leicester’s voice interrupted his purpose. 

“ Thou ’scapest me not thus, Sir Fool,” said he; 
“ I think thy knighthood has addled thy brains — 
Confess thou hast talked of impossibilities, as of 
things which may come to pass.” 

“ My lord, long live your fair Countess,” said 
V arney ; “ but neither your love nor my good 
wishes can make her immortal. But God grant 
she live long to be happy herself, and to render you 
so ! I see not but you may be King of England 
notwithstanding.” 

“ Nay, now, Varney, thou art stark-mad,” said 
Leicester. 

“ I would I were myself within the same nearness 
to a good estate of freehold,” said Varney. “ Have 
we not known in other countries, how a left-handed 
marriage might subsist betwixt persons of differing 
degree ? — ay, and be no hinderance to prevent the 
husband from conjoining himself afterwards with a 
more suitable partner ? ” 

“ I have heard of such things in Germany,” said 
Leicester. 

“Ay, and the most learned doctors in foreign 


210 


KENILWORTH. 


universities justify the practice from the Old Testa- 
ment,” said Varney. “ And after all, where is 
the harm ? The beautiful partner, whom you have 
chosen for true love, has your secret hours of relaxa- 
tion and affection. Her fame is safe — her con- 
science may slumber securely — You have wealth to 
provide royally for your issue, should heaven bless 
you with offspring. Meanwhile you may give to 
Elizabeth ten times the leisure, and ten thousand 
times the affection, that ever Don Philip of Spain 
spared to her sister Mary ; yet you know how she 
doted on him though so cold and neglectful. It re- 
quires but a close mouth and an open brow, and you 
keep your Eleanor and your fair Rosamond far 
enough separate. — Leave me to build you a bower 
to which no jealous Queen shall find a clew.” 

Leicester was silent for a moment, then sighed 
and said, “ It is impossible. — Good night, Sir Rich- 
ard Varney — yet stay — Can you guess what meant 
Tressilian by showing himself in such careless guise 
before the Queen to-day ? — to strike her tender 
heart, I should guess, with all the sympathies due 
to a lover, abandoned by his mistress, and abandon- 
ing himself.” 

Varney, smothering a sneering laugh, answered, 
“He believed Master Tressilian had no such mat- 
ter in his head.” 

“How!” said Leicester; “what mean’st thou? 
There is ever knavery in that laugh of thine, 
Varney.” 

“I only meant, my lord,” said Varney, “that 
Tressilian has taken the sure way to avoid heart 
breaking. He hath had a companion — a female 
companion — a mistress — a sort of player’s wife 
or sister, as I believe, — with him in Mervyn’s 


KENILWORTH. 21 1 

Bower, where I quartered him for certain reasons 
of my own.” 

“ A mistress ! — mean’st thou a paramour ? ” 

“ Ay, my lords what female else waits for hours 
in a gentleman’s chamber ? ” 

“ By my faith, time and space fitting, this were 
a good tale to tell,” said Leicester. “ I ever dis- 
trusted those bookish, hypocritical, seeming-virtu- 
ous scholars. Well — Master Tressilian makes 
somewhat familiar with my house — if I look it 
over, he is . indebted to it for certain recollections. 
I would not harm him more than I can help. 
Keep eye on him, however, Varney.” 

“ I lodged him for that reason,” said Varney, “ in 
Mervyn’s Tower, where he is under the eye of my 
very vigilant, if he were not also my very drunken, 
servant, Michael Lambourne, whom I have told 
your Grace of.” 

“ Grace ! ” said Leicester ; “ what mean’st thou 
by that epithet ? ” 

“ It came unawares, my lord ; and yet it sounds 
so very natural, that I cannot recall it.” 

“ It is thine own preferment that hath turned thy 
brain,” said Leicester, laughing ; “ new honours are 
as heady as new wine.” 

“May your lordship soon have cause to say so 
from experience,” said Varney ; and, wishing his 
patron good night, he withdrew . 1 


1 Note II. — Furniture of Kenilworth. 


CHAPTER XVI. 


Here stands the victim — there the proud betrayer, 
E’en as the hind pull’d down by strangling dogs 
Lies at the hunter’s feet — who courteous proffers 
To some high dame, the Dian of the chase, 

To whom he looks for guerdon, his sharp blade, 

To gash the sobbing throat. 

The Woodsman. 


We are now to return to Mervyn’s Bower, the 
apartment, or rather the prison, of the unfortu- 
nate Countess of Leicester, who for some time 
kept within hounds her uncertainty and her im- 
patience. She was aware that, in the tumult of 
the day, there might be some delay ere her letter 
could be safely conveyed to the hands of Leicester, 
and that some time more might elapse ere he could 
extricate himself from the necessary attendance on 
Elizabeth, to come and visit her in her secret bower. 
“ I will not expect him,” she said, “ till night — he 
cannot he absent from his royal guest, even to see 
me. He will, I know, come earlier if it be possible, 
hut I will not expect him before night.” — And yet 
all the while she did expect him ; and, while 
she tried to argue herself into a contrary belief, 
each hasty noise, of the hundred which she heard, 
sounded like the hurried step of Leicester on the 
staircase, hasting to fold her in his arms. 

The fatigue of body which Amy had lately under- 
gone, with the agitation of mind natural to so cruel 
a state of uncertainty, began by degrees strongly to 


KENILWORTH. 


213 

affect her nerves, and she almost feared her total 
inability to maintain the necessary self-command 
through the scenes which might lie before her. 
But, although spoiled by an over-indulgent sys- 
tem of education, Amy had naturally a mind of 
great power, united with a frame which her share 
in her father’s woodland exercises had rendered 
uncommonly healthy. She summoned to her aid 
such mental and bodily resources ; and not uncon- 
scious how much the issue of her fate might depend 
on her own self-possession, she prayed internally for 
strength of body and for mental fortitude, and re- 
solved, at the same time, to yield to no nervous im- 
pulse which might weaken either. 

Yet when the great bell of the Castle, which was 
placed in Caesar’s Tower, at no great distance from 
that called Mervyn’s, began to send its pealing 
clamour abroad, in signal of the arrival of the 
royal procession, the din was so painfully acute 
to ears rendered nervously sensitive by anxiety, 
that she could hardly forbear shrieking with an- 
guish, in answer to every stunning clash of the 
relentless peal. 

Shortly afterwards, when the small apartment 
was at once enlightened by the shower of artificial 
fires with which the air was suddenly filled, and 
which crossed each other like fiery spirits, each 
bent on his own separate mission, or like salaman- 
ders executing a frolic dance in the region of the 
Sylphs, the Countess felt at first as if each rocket 
shot close by her eyes, and discharged its sparks 
and flashes so nigh that she could feel a sense of 
the heat. But she struggled against these fantastic 
terrors, and compelled herself to arise, stand by the 
window, look out, and gaze upon a sight, which at 


214 


KENILWORTH. 


another time would have appeared to her at once 
captivating and fearful. The magnificent towers of 
the Castle were enveloped in garlands of artificial 
fire, or shrouded with tiaras of pale smoke. The 
surface of the lake glowed like molten iron, while 
many fireworks, (then thought extremely wonder- 
ful, though now common,) whose flame continued 
to exist in the opposing element, dived and rose, 
hissed and roared, and spouted fire, like so many 
dragons of enchantment, sporting upon a burning 
lake. 

Even Amy was for a moment interested by what 
was to her so new a scene. “ I had thought it mag- 
ical art,” she said, “but poor Tressilian taught me 
to judge of such things as they are. Great God ! 
and may not these idle splendours resemble my 
own hoped for happiness, — a single spark, which 
is instantly swallowed up by surrounding darkness, 
— a precarious glow, which rises but for a brief 
space into the air, that its fall may be the lower ? 
O, Leicester ! after all — all that thou hast said — 
hast sworn — that Amy was thy love, thy life, can 
it be that thou art the magician at whose nod these 
enchantments arise, and that she sees them, as an 
outcast, if not a captive ? ” 

The sustained, prolonged, and repeated bursts of 
music, from so many different quarters, and at so 
many varying points of distance, which sounded as 
if not the Castle of Kenilworth only, but the whole 
country around, had been at once the scene of sol- 
emnizing some high national festival, carried the 
same oppressive thought still closer to her heart, 
while some notes would melt in distant and falling 
tones, as if in compassion for her sorrows, and some 
burst close and near upon her, as if mocking her 


KENILWORTH. 


215 

misery, with all the insolence of unlimited mirth. 
“These sounds,” she said, “are mine — mine be- 
cause they are his ; but I cannot say, — Be still, 
these loud strains suit me not ; — and the voice of 
the meanest peasant that mingles in the dance, 
would have more power to modulate the music, 
than the command of her who is mistress of all ! ” 

By degrees the sounds of revelry died away, and 
the Countess withdrew from the window at which 
she had sate listening to them. It was night, but the 
moon afforded considerable light in the room, so 
that Amy was able to make the arrangement which 
she judged necessary. There was hope that Lei- 
cester might come to her apartment as soon as the 
revel in the Castle had subsided ; but. there was 
also risk she might be disturbed by some unautho- 
rized intruder. She had lost confidence in the key, 
since Tressilian had entered so easily, though the 
door was locked on the inside ; yet all the additional 
security she could think of, was to place the table 
across the door, that she might be warned by the 
noise, should any one attempt to enter. Having 
taken these necessary precautions, the unfortunate 
lady withdrew to her couch, stretched herself down 
on it, mused in anxious expectation, and counted 
more than one hour after midnight, till exhausted 
nature proved too strong for love, for grief, for fear, 
nay even for uncertainty, and she slept. 

Yes, she slept. The Indian sleeps at the stake, 
in the intervals between his tortures ; and mental 
torments, in like manner, exhaust by long con- 
tinuance the sensibility of the sufferer, so that 
an interval of lethargic repose must necessarily 
ensue, ere the pangs which they inflict can again 
be renewed. 


KENILWORTH. 


2x6 

The Countess slept, then, for several hours, and 
dreamed that she was in the ancient house at Cum- 
nor-Place, listening for the low whistle with which 
Leicester often used to announce his presence in the 
court-yard, when arriving suddenly on one of his 
stolen visits. But on this occasion, instead of a 
whistle, she heard the peculiar blast of a bugle-horn, 
such as her father used to wind on the fall of the 
stag, and which huntsmen then called a mort. She 
ran, as she thought, to a window that looked into 
the court-yard, which she saw filled with men in 
mourning garments. The old Curate seemed about 
to read the funeral service. Mumblazen, tricked 
out in an antique dress, like an ancient herald, held 
aloft a scutcheon, with its usual decorations of skulls, 
cross-bones, and hour-glasses, surrounding a coat- 
of-arms, of which she could only distinguish that it 
was surmounted with an Earl’s coronet. The old 
man looked at her with a ghastly smile, and said, 
“ Amy, are they not rightly quartered ? ” Just as 
he spoke, the horns again poured on her ear the 
melancholy yet wild strain of the mort, or death- 
note, and she awoke. 

The Countess awoke to hear a real bugle-note, or 
rather the combined breath of many bugles, sound- 
ing not the mort, but the jolly reveille, to remind 
the inmates of the Castle of Kenilworth, that the 
pleasures of the day were to commence with a mag- 
nificent stag-hunting in the neighbouring Chase. 
Amy started up from her couch, listened to the 
sound, saw the first beams of the summer morning 
already twinkle through the lattice of her window, 
and recollected, with feelings of giddy agony, where 
she was, and how circumstanced. 

“ He thinks not of me ” she said — “ he will not 


KENILWORTH. 


217 


come nigh me ! A Queen is his guest, and what 
cares he in what corner of his huge Castle a wretch 
like me pines in doubt, which is fast fading into 
despair ? ” At once a sound at the door, as of some 
one attempting to open it softly, tilled her with an 
ineffable mixture of joy and fear ; and, hastening to 
remove the obstacle she had placed against the door, 
and to unlock it, she had the precaution to ask, “ Is 
it thou, my love ? ” 

“Yes, my Countess,” murmured a whisper in 
reply. 

She threw open the door, and exclaiming, “ Lei- 
cester ! ” flung her arms around the neck of the man 
who stood without, muffled in his cloak. 

“No — not quite Leicester, ’ answered Michael 
Lambourne, for he it was, returning the caress with 
vehemence, — “ not quite Leicester, my lovely and 
most loving Duchess, but as good a man ” 

With an exertion of force, of which she would 
at another time have thought herself incapable, the 
Countess freed herself from the profane and profan- 
ing grasp of the drunken debauchee, and retreated 
into the midst of her apartment, where despair 
gave her courage to make a stand. 

As Lambourne, on entering, dropped the lap of 
his cloak from his face, she knew Varney’s profligate 
servant ; the very last person, excepting his detested 
master, by whom she would have wished to be 
discovered. But she was still closely muffled in her 
travelling dress, and as Lambourne had scarce ever 
been admitted to her presence at Cumnor- Place, 
her person, she hoped, might not be so well known 
to him as his was to her, owing to Janet’s pointing 
him frequently out as he crossed the court, and tell- 
ing stories of his wickedness. She might have had 


2l8 


KENILWORTH. 


still greater confidence in her disguise, had her ex- 
perience enabled her to discover that he was much 
intoxicated ; but this could scarce have consoled her 
for the risk which she might incur from such a 
character, in such a time, place, and circumstances. 

Lamhourne flung the door behind him as he 
entered, and folding his arms, as if in mockery of 
the attitude of distraction into which Amy had 
thrown herself, he proceeded thus : “ Hark ye, most 
fair Callipolis — or most lovely Countess of clouts, 
and divine Duchess of dark corners (c) — if thou 
takest all that trouble of skewering thyself together, 
like a trussed fowl, that there may be more pleasure 
in the carving, even save thyself the labour. I love 
thy first frank manner the best — like thy present 
as little ” — (he made a step towards her, and 
staggered) — “ as little as — such a damned uneven 
floor as this where a gentleman may break his neck, 
if he does not walk as upright as a posture-master 
on the tight-rope.” 

“ Stand back ! ” said the Countess ; “ do not ap- 
proach nearer to me on thy peril ! ” 

“ My peril ! — and stand back ! — Why, how now, 
madam ? Must you have a better mate than honest 
Mike Lamhourne ? I have been in America, girl, 
where the gold grows, and have brought off such a 
load on’t ” 

“ Good friend,” said the Countess, in great terror 
at the ruffian’s determined and audacious manner, 
“ I prithee begone, and leave me ” 

“And so I will, pretty one, when we are tired 
of each other’s company — not a jot sooner.” — He 
seized her by the arm, -while, incapable of further 
defence, she uttered shriek upon shriek. “Nay, 
scream away if you like it,” said he, still holding 


KENILWORTH. 


219 


her fast ; “ I have heard the sea at the loudest, and 
I mind a squalling woman no more than a miauling 
kitten — Damn me ! — I have heard fifty or a hun- 
dred screaming at once, when there was a town 
stormed.” 

The cries of the Countess, however, brought un- 
expected aid, in the person of Lawrence Staples, 
who had heard her exclamations from his apartment 
below, and entered in good time to save her from 
being discovered, if not from more atrocious vio- 
lence. Lawrence was drunk also, from the debauch 
of the preceding night ; but fortunately his intoxi- 
cation had taken a different turn from that of 
Lambourne. 

“ What the devil’s noise is this in the ward ? ” 
he said — “ What ! man and woman together in 
the same cell ? that is against rule. I will have 
decency under my rule, by Saint Peter of the 
Fetters ! ” 

“ Get thee down stairs, thou drunken beast,” said 
Lambourne ; “ seest thou not the lady and I would 
be private ? ” 

“Good sir, worthy sir!” said the Countess, ad- 
dressing the jailor, “ do but save me from him, for 
the sake of mercy ! ” 

“ She speaks fairly,” said the jailor, “ and I will 
take her part. I love my prisoners ; and I have had 
as good prisoners under my key, as they have had 
in Newgate or the Compter. And so, being one of 
my lambkins, as I say, no one shall disturb her in 
her pen-fold. So, let go the woman, or I’ll knock 
your brains out with my keys.” 

“ I’ll make a blood-pudding of thy midriff first,” 
answered Lambourne, laying his left hand on his 
dagger, but still detaining the Countess by the arm 


220 


KENILWORTH. 


with his right — “So have at thee, thou old ostrich, 
whose only living is upon a bunch of iron keys ! ” 

Lawrence raised the arm of Michael, and pre- 
vented him from drawing his dagger ; and as Lam- 
bourne struggled and strove to shake him off, the 
Countess made a sudden exertion on her side, and 
slipping her hand out of the glove on which the ruf- 
fian still kept hold, she gained her liberty, and es- 
caping from the apartment, ran down stairs ; while, 
at the same moment, she heard the two combatants 
fall on the floor with a noise which increased her 
terror. The outer wicket offered no impediment to 
her flight, having been opened for Lambourne’s ad- 
mittance; so that she succeeded in escaping down 
the stair, and fled into the Pleasance, which seemed 
to her hasty glance the direction in which she was 
most likely to avoid pursuit. 

Meanwhile, Lawrence and Lambourne rolled on 
the, floor of the apartment, closely grappled together. 
Neither had, happily, opportunity to draw their 
daggers ; but Lawrence found space enough to dash 
his heavy keys across Michael's face, and Michael, 
in return, grasped the turnkey so felly by the throat, 
that the blood gushed from nose and mouth ; so that 
they were both gory and filthy spectacles, when one 
of the other officers of the household, attracted 
by the noise of the fray, entered the room, and 
with some difficulty effected the separation of the 
combatants. 

“ A murrain on you both/’ said the charitable 
mediator, “ and especially on you, Master Lam- 
bourne ! What the fiend lie you here for, fighting 
on the floor, like two butchers’ curs in the kennel 
of the shambles ? ” 

Lambourne arose, and, somewhat sobered by the 


Kenilworth. 


±±t 

interposition of a third party, looked with some- 
thing less than his usual brazen impudence of vis- 
age ; “We fought for a wench, an thou must 
know,” was his reply. 

“ A wench ! Where is she ? ” said the officer. 

“ Why, vanished, I think,” said Lambourne, look- 
ing around him ; “ unless Lawrence hath swallowed 
her. That filthy paunch of his devours as many 
distressed damsels and oppressed orphans, as e’er a 
giant in King Arthur’s history : they are his prime 
food ; he worries them body, soul, and substance.” 

“ Ay, ay ! It’s no matter,” said Lawrence, gather- 
ing up his huge ungainly form from the floor ; “ but 
I have had your betters, Master Michael Lam- 
bourne, under the little turn of my forefinger and 
thumb; and I shall have thee, before all’s done, 
under my hatches. The impudence of thy brow will 
not always save thy shin-bones from iron, and thy 
foul thirsty gullet from a hempen cord.” — The 
words were no sooner out of his mouth, when Lam 
bourne again made at him. 

“Nay, go not to it again,” said the sewer, “or I 
will call for him shall tame you both, and that is 
Master Varney — Sir Richard, I mean — he is stir- 
ring, I promise you — I saw him cross the court 
just now.” 

“ Didst thou, by G — ! ” said Lambourne, seizing 
on the basin and ewer which stood in the apart- 
ment; “Nay, then, element, do thy work — I 
thought I had enough of thee last night, when I 
floated about for Orion, like a cork on a fermenting 
cask of ale.” 

So saying, he fell to work to cleanse from his face 
and hands the signs of the fray, and get his apparel 
into some order. 


222 


KENILWORTH. 


“What hast thou done to him ? ” said the sewer, 
speaking aside to the jailor ; “ his face is fearfully 
swelled.” 

“ It is but the imprint of the key of my cabinet 

— too good a mark for his gallows-face. No man 
shall abuse or insult my prisoners ; they are my 
jewels, and I lock them in safe casket accordingly. 

— And so, mistress, leave off your wailing — Hey ! 
why, surely, there was a woman here ! ” 

“ I think you are all mad this morning,” said the 
sewer ; “ I saw no woman here, nor no man neither 
in a proper sense, but only two beasts rolling on 
the floor.”* 

“ Nay, then I am undone,” said the jailor ; “ the 
prison’s broken, that is all. Kenilworth prison is 
broken,” he continued, in a tone of maudlin lamen- 
tation, “ which was, the strongest jail betwixt this 
and the Welsh marches — ay, and a house that has 
had knights, and earls, and kings sleeping in it, as 
secure as if they had been in the Tower of London. 
It is broken, the prisoners fled, and the jailor in 
much danger of being hanged ! ” 

So saying, he retreated down to his own den to 
conclude his lamentations, or to sleep himself sober. 
Lambourne and the sewer followed him close, and 
it was well for them, since the jailor, out of mere 
habit, was about to lock the wicket after him ; and 
had they not been within the reach of interfering, 
they would have had the pleasure of being shut up 
in the turret-chamber, from which the Countess had 
been just delivered. 

That unhappy lady, as soon as she found herself 
at liberty, fled, as we have already mentioned, into 
the Pleasance. She had seen this richly ornamented 
space of ground from the window of Mervyn’s 


KENILWORTH. 


223 


Tower ; and it occurred to her, at the moment of 
her escape, that, among its numerous arbours, bow- 
ers, fountains, statues, and grottoes, she might find 
some recess, in which she could lie concealed until 
she had an opportunity of addressing herself to a 
protector, to whom she might communicate as much 
as she dared of her forlorn situation, and through 
whose means she might supplicate an interview 
with her husband. 

“If I could see my guide,” she thought, “I would 
learn if he had delivered my letter. Even did I 
but see Tressilian, it were better to risk Dudley’s 
anger, by confiding my whole situation to one who 
is the very soul of honour, than to run the hazard 
of farther insult among the insolent menials of this 
ill-ruled place. I will not again venture into an 
enclosed apartment. I will wait, I will watch — 
amidst so many human beings, there must be some 
kind heart which can judge and compassionate what 
mine endures.” 

In truth, more than one party entered and trav- 
ersed the Pleasance. But they were in joyous 
groups of four or five persons together, laughing 
and jesting in their own fulness of mirth and light- 
ness of heart. 

The retreat which she had chosen gave her the 
easy alternative of avoiding observation. It was 
but stepping back to the farthest recess of a grotto, 
ornamented with rustic work and moss-seats, and 
terminated by a fountain, and she might easily re- 
main concealed, or at her pleasure discover herself 
to any solitary wanderer, whose curiosity might 
lead him to that romantic retirement. Anticipat- 
ing such an opportunity, she looked into the clear 
basin, which the silent fountain held up to her like 


KENILWORTH. 


224 

a mirror, and felt shocked at her own appearance, 
and doubtful at the same time, muffled and disfig- 
ured as her disguise made her seem to herself, 
whether any female (and it was from the compas- 
sion of her own sex that she chiefly expected 
sympathy) would engage in conference with so sus- 
picious an object. Reasoning thus like a woman, 
to whom external appearance is scarcely in any cir- 
cumstances a matter of unimportance, and like a 
beauty, who had some confidence in the power of 
her own charms, she laid aside her travelling cloak 
and capotaine hat, and placed them beside her, so 
that she could assume them in an instant, ere one 
could penetrate from the entrance of the grotto to 
its extremity, in case the intrusion of Varney or of 
Lambourne should render such disguise necessary. 
The dress which she wore under these vestments 
was somewhat of a theatrical cast, so as to suit the 
assumed personage of one of the females who was 
to act in the pageant. Way land had found the 
means of arranging it thus upon the second day of 
their journey, having experienced the service aris- 
ing from the assumption of such a character on the 
preceding day. The fountain, acting both as a mir- 
ror and ewer, afforded Amy the means of a brief 
toilette, of which she availed herself as hastily as 
possible ; then took in her hand her small casket 
of jewels, in case she might find them useful inter- 
cessors, and retiring to the darkest and most se- 
questered nook, sat down on a seat of mess, and 
awaited till fate should give her some chance of 
rescue, or of propitiating an intercessor. 


, - 1 C * 


CHAPTER XVII 


Have you not seen the partridge quake. 

Viewing the hawk approaching nigh? 

She cuddles close beneath the brake, 

Afraid to sit, afraid to fly. 

Prior. 

It chanced upon that memorable morning, that 
one of the earliest of the huntress train, who ap- 
peared from her chamber in full array for the 
Chase, was the Princess for whom all these pleas- 
ures were instituted, England’s Maiden Queen. I 
know not if it were by chance, or out of the be- 
fitting courtesy due to a mistress by whom he was 
so much honoured, that she had scarcely made one 
step beyond the threshold of her chamber, ere 
Leicester was by her side, and proposed to her, 
until the preparations for the Chase had been com- 
pleted, to view the Pleasance, and the gardens 
which it connected with the Castle-yard. 

To this new scene of pleasures they walked, the 
Earl’s arm affording his Sovereign the occasional 
support which she required, where flights of steps, 
then a favourite ornament in a garden, conducted 
them from terrace to terrace, and from parterre to 
parterre. The ladies in attendance, gifted with pru- 
dence, or endowed perhaps with the amiable desire 
of acting as they would be done by, did not con- 
ceive their duty to the Queen’s person required 
them, though they lost not sight of her, to approach 


±±6 


KENILWORTH. 


so near as to share, or perhaps disturb, the conversa- 
tion betwixt the Queen and the Earl, who was not 
only her host, but also her most trusted, esteemed, 
and favoured servant. They contented themselves 
with admiring the grace of this illustrious couple, 
whose robes of state were now exchanged for hunt- 
ing suits, almost equally magnificent. 

Elizabeth’s silvan dress, which was of a pale blue 
silk, with silver lace and aiguillettes, approached in 
form to that of the ancient Amazons ; and was, there- 
fore, well suited at once to her height, and to the dig- 
nity of her mien, which her conscious rank and long 
habits of authority had rendered in some degree too 
masculine to he seen to the best advantage in or- 
dinary female weeds. Leicester’s hunting suit of 
Lincoln-green, richly embroidered with gold, and 
crossed by the gay baldric, which sustained a bugle- 
horn, and a wood-knife instead of a sword, became 
its master, as did his other vestments of court or of 
war. For such were the perfections of his form and 
mien, that Leicester was always supposed to be seen 
to the greatest advantage in the character and dress 
which for the time he represented or wore. 

The conversation of Elizabeth and the favourite 
Earl has not reached us in detail. But those who 
watched at some distance (and the eyes of courtiers 
and court ladies are right sharp) were of opinion, 
that on no occasion did the dignity of Elizabeth, in 
gesture and motion, seem so decidedly to soften away 
into a mien expressive of indecision and tenderness. 
Her step was not only slow, but even unequal, a 
thing most unwonted in her carriage ; her looks 
seemed bent on the ground, and there was a timid 
disposition to withdraw from her companion, which 
external gesture in females often indicates exactly 


KENILWORTH. 


in 

the opposite tendency in the secret mind. The 
Duchess of Rutland, who ventured nearest, was 
even heard to aver, that she discerned a tear in 
Elizabeth’s eye, and a blush on her cheek ; and 
still farther, ‘‘She bent her looks on the ground to 
avoid mine,” said the Duchess; “she who, in her 
ordinary mood, could look down a lion.” To what 
conclusion these symptoms led is sufficiently evi- 
dent; nor were they probably entirely groundless. 
The progress of a private conversation, betwixt two 
persons of different sexes, is often decisive of their 
fate, and gives it a turn very different perhaps from 
what they themselves anticipated. Gallantry be- 
comes mingled with conversation, and affection 
and passion come gradually to mix with gallantry. 
Nobles, as well as shepherd swains, will, in such a 
trying moment, say more than they intended ; and 
Queens, like village maidens, will listen longer than 
they should. 

Horses in the meanwhile neighed, and champed 
the bits with impatience in the base-court ; hounds 
yelled in their couples, and yeomen, rangers, and 
prickers, lamented the exhaling of the dew, which 
would prevent the scent from lying. But Leicester 
had another chase in view, or, to speak more justly 
towards him, had become engaged in it without pre- 
meditation, as the high-spirited hunter which follows 
the cry of the hounds that have crossed his path by 
accident. The Queen — an accomplished and hand- 
some woman — the pride of England, the hope of 
France and Holland, and the dread of Spain, had 
probably listened with more than usual favour to 
that mixture of romantic gallantry with which she 
always loved to be addressed ; and the Earl had, in 
vanity, in ambition, or in both, thrown in more and 


228 


KENILWORTH. 


more of that delicious ingredient, until his impor- 
tunity became the language of love itself. 

“No, Dudley,” said Elizabeth, yet it was with 
broken accents — “No, I must be the mother of my 
people. Other ties, that make the lowly maiden 
happy, are denied to her Sovereign — No, Leicester, 
urge it no more — were I as others, free to seek my 
own happiness — then, indeed — - but it cannot — 
cannot be. — Delay the chase — delay it for half an 
hour — and leave me, my lord.” 

“ How, leave you, madam ! ” said Leicester, — 
“ Has my madness offended you ? ” 

“No, Leicester, not so!” answered the Queen, 
hastily ; “ but it is madness, and must not be re- 
peated. Go — but go not far from hence — and 
meantime let no one intrude on my privacy.” 

While she spoke thus, Dudley bowed deeply, and 
retired with a slow and melancholy air. The Queen 
stood gazing after him, and murmured to herself — 
“ Were it possible — - were it but possible ! — but no 
— no — Elizabeth must be the wife and mother of 
England alone.” 

As she spoke thus, and in order to avoid some 
one whose step she heard approaching, the Queen 
turned into the grotto in which her hapless, and yet 
but too successful, rival lay concealed. 

The mind of England’s Elizabeth, if somewhat 
shaken by the agitating interview to which she had 
just put a period, was of that firm and decided char- 
acter which soon recovers its natural tone. It was 
like one of those ancient druidical monuments called 
Rocking-stones. The finger of Cupid, boy as he is 
painted, could put her feelings in motion, but the 
power of Hercules could not have destroyed their 
equilibrium. As she advanced with a slow pace 


KENILWORTH. 


229 


towards the inmost extremity of the grotto, her 
countenance, ere she had proceeded half the length, 
had recovered its dignity of look, and her mien its 
air of command. 

It was then the Queen became aware, that a female 
figure was placed beside, or rather partly behind, an 
alabaster column, at the foot of which arose the pel- 
lucid fountain, which occupied the inmost recess of 
the twilight grotto. The classical mind of Eliza- 
beth suggested the story of ISTuma and Egeria, and 
she doubted not that some Italian sculptor had here 
represented the Naiad, whose inspirations gave laws 
to Rome. As she advanced, she became doubtful 
whether she beheld a statue, or a form of flesh and 
blood. The unfortunate Amy, indeed, remained 
motionless, betwixt the desire which she had to 
make her condition known to one of her own sex, 
and her awe for the stately form which approached 
her, and which, though her eyes had never before 
beheld, her fears instantly suspected to be the per- 
sonage she really was. Amy had arisen from her 
seat with the purpose of addressing the lady, 
who entered the grotto alone, and, as she at first 
thought, so opportunely. But when she recollected 
the alarm which Leicester had expressed at the 
Queen’s knowing aught of their union, and became 
more and more satisfied that the person whom she 
now beheld was Elizabeth herself, she stood with 
one foot advanced and one withdrawn, her arms, 
head, and hands, perfectly motionless, and her cheek 
as pallid as the alabaster pedestal against which she 
leaned. Her dress was of pale sea-green silk, little 
distinguished in that imperfect light, and somewhat 
resembled the drapery of a Grecian Nymph, such 
an antique disguise having been thought the most 


230 


KENILWORTH. 


secure, where so many masquers and revellers were 
assembled ; so that the Queen’s doubt of her being 
a living form was well justified by all contingent cir- 
cumstances, as well as by the bloodless cheek and 
the fixed eye. 

Elizabeth remained in doubt, even after she had 
approached within a few paces, whether she did not 
gaze on a statue so cunningly fashioned, that by the 
doubtful light it could not be distinguished from 
reality. She stopped, therefore, and fixed upon this 
interesting object her princely look with so much 
keenness, that the astonishment which had kept Amy 
immovable gave way to awe, and she gradually cast 
down her eyes, and drooped her head under the com- 
manding gaze of the Sovereign. Still, however, she 
remained in all respects, saving this slow and pro- 
found inclination of the head, motionless and silent. 

From her dress, and the casket which she instinct- 
ively held in her hand, Elizabeth naturally conjec- 
tured that the beautiful but mute figure which she 
beheld was a performer in one of the various theat- 
rical pageants which had been placed in different sit- 
uations to surprise her with their homage, and that 
the poor player, overcome with awe at her presence, 
had either forgot the part assigned her, or lacked 
courage to go through it. It was natural and court- 
eous to give her some encouragement ; and Elizabeth 
accordingly said, in a tone of condescending kindness, 
— “ How now, fair Nymph of this lovely grotto — art 
thou spell-bound and struck with dumbness by the 
charms of the wicked enchanter whom men term 
Fear ? — We are his sworn enemy, maiden, and can 
reverse his charm. Speak, we command thee.” 

Instead of answering her by speech, the unfortu- 
nate Countess dropped on her knee before the Queen, 


KENILWORTH. 


231 


let her casket fall from her hand, and clasping her 
palms together, looked up in the Queen’s face with 
such a mixed agony of fear and supplication, that 
Elizabeth was considerably affected. 

“ What may this mean ? " she said ; “ this is a 
stronger passion than befits the occasion. Stand up, 
damsel — what wouldst thou have with us ? ” 

“ Your protection, madam,” faltered forth the un- 
happy petitioner. 

“ Each daughter of England has it while she is 
worthy of it,” replied the Queen ; “ but your distress 
seems to have a deeper root than a forgotten task. 
Why, and in what, do you crave our protection ? ” 

Amy hastily endeavoured to recall what she were 
best to say, which might secure herself from the im- 
minent dangers that surrounded her, without en- 
dangering her husband ; and plunging from one 
thought to another, amidst the chaos which filled her 
mind, she could at length, in answer to the Queen’s 
repeated enquiries, in what she sought protection, 
only falter out, “ Alas ! I know not.” 

“This is folly, maiden/’ said Elizabeth, impatiently ; 
for there was something in the extreme confusion of 
the suppliant, which irritated her curiosity, as well 
as interested her feelings. “ The sick man must tell 
his malady to the physician, nor are WE accustomed 
to ask questions so oft, without, receiving an answer.” 

“ I request — I implore,” stammered forth the un- 
fortunate Countess, “I beseech your gracious 
protection — against — against one Varney.” She 
choked wellnigh as she uttered the fatal word, which 
was instantly caught up by the Queen. 

“ What, Varney — Sir Richard Varney — the ser- 
vant of Lord Leicester ? . — What, damsel, are you to 
him, or he to you ? " 


232 


KENILWORTH. 


“I — I — was his prisoner — and he practised on 
my life — and I broke forth to — to ” 

“ To throw thyself on my protection, doubtless,” 
said Elizabeth. “Thou shalt have it — that is, if 
thou art worthy ; for we will sift this matter to the 
uttermost. — Thou art,” she said, bending on the 
Countess an eye which seemed designed to pierce 
her very inmost soul, — “ thou art Amy, daughter of 
Sir Hugh Robsart of Lidcote-Hall ? ” 

“ Forgive me — forgive me — most gracious Prin- 
cess!” said Amy, dropping once more on her knee, 
from which she had arisen. 

“ For what should I forgive thee, silly wench ? ” 
said Elizabeth ; “ for being the daughter of thine own 
father? Thou art brain-sick, surely. Well, I see I 
must wring the story from thee by inches — Thou 
didst deceive thine old and honoured father — thy 
look confesses it — cheated Master Tressilian — 
thy blush avouches it — and married this same 
Varney?” 

Amy sprung on her feet, and interrupted the Queen 
eagerly, with, “ NTo, madam, no — as there is a God 
above us, I am not the sordid wretch you would 
make me ! I am not the wife of that contemptible 
slave — of that most deliberate villain ! I am not 
the wife of Varney ! I would rather be the bride of 
Destruction ! r 

The Queen, overwhelmed in her turn by Amy’s 
vehemence, stood silent for an instant, and then re- 
plied, “ Why, God ha’ mercy, woman 1 — I see thou 
canst talk fast enough when the theme likes thee. 
Nay, tell me, woman,” she continued, for to the 
impulse of curiosity was now added that of an un- 
defined jealousy that some deception had been prac- 
tised on her, — “ tell me, woman — for by God’s day, 


KENILWORTH. 


233 


I WILL know — whose wife, or whose paramour, art 
thou ? Speak out, and be speedy — Thou wert bet- 
ter dally with a lioness than with Elizabeth.” 

Urged to this extremity, dragged as it were by 
irresistible force to the verge of the precipice, which 
she saw but could not avoid, — permitted not a mo- 
ment’s respite by the eager words and menacing ges- 
tures of the offended Queen, Amy at length uttered 
in despair, “ The Earl of Leicester knows it all.” 

“ The Earl of Leicester ! ” said Elizabeth, in 
utter astonishment — “ The Earl of Leicester ! ” she 
repeated, with kindling anger, — “ Woman, thou art 
set on to this — thou dost belie him — he takes no 
keep of such things as thou art. Thou art suborned 
to slander the noblest lord, and the truest-hearted 
gentleman, in England ! But were he the right 
hand of our trust, or something yet dearer to us, 
thou shalt have thy hearing, and that in his pre- 
sence. Come with me — come with me instantly ! ” 

As Amy shrunk back with terror, which the in- 
censed Queen interpreted as that of conscious guilt, 
Elizabeth rapidly advanced, seized on her arm, and 
hastened with swift and long steps out of the 
grotto, and along the principal alley of the Pleas- 
ance, dragging with her the terrified Countess, 
whom she still held by the arm, and whose utmost 
exertions could but just keep pace with those of the 
indignant Queen. 

Leicester was at this moment the centre of a 
splendid group of lords and ladies, assembled to- 
gether under an arcade, or portico, which closed 
the alley. The company had drawn together in that 
place to attend the commands of her Majesty when 
the hunting-party should go forward, and their aston- 
• ishment may be imagined, when, instead of seeing 


KENILWORTH. 


234 

Elizabeth advance towards them with her usual 
measured dignity of motion, they beheld her walk- 
ing so rapidly, that she was in the midst of them ere 
they were aware ; and then observed, with fear and 
surprise, that her features were flushed betwixt an- 
ger and agitation, that her hair was loosened by her 
haste of motion, and that her eyes sparkled as they 
were wont when the spirit of Henry VIII. mounted 
highest in his daughter. Nor were they less aston- 
ished at the appearance of the pale, extenuated^ 
half dead, yet still lovely female, whom the Queen 
upheld by main strength with one hand, while with 
the other she waved aside the ladies and nobles 
who pressed towards her, under the idea that she 
was taken suddenly ill. " Where is my Lord of 
Leicester ? ” she said, in a tone that thrilled with 
astonishment all the courtiers who stood around — 
“ Stand forth, my Lord of Leicester ! ” 

If, in the midst of the most serene day of sum- 
mer, when all is light and laughing around, a thun- 
derbolt were to fall from the clear blue vault of 
heaven, and rend the earth at the very feet of some 
careless traveller, he could not gaze upon the smoul- 
dering chasm, which so unexpectedly yawned before 
him, with half the astonishment and fear which 
Leicester felt at the sight that so suddenly pre- 
sented itself. He had that instant been receiving, 
with a political affectation of disavowing and mis- 
understanding their meaning, the half uttered, half 
intimated congratulations of the courtiers upon the 
favour of the Queen, carried apparently to its high- 
est pitch during the interview of that morning; 
from which most of them seemed to augur, that he 
might soon arise from their equal in rank to become 
their master. And now, while the subdued yet 


KENILWORTH. 


* 3 $ 


proud smile with which he disclaimed those infer- 
ences was yet curling his cheek, the Queen shot into 
the circle, her passions excited to the uttermost; 
and, supporting with one hand, and apparently 
without an effort, the pale and sinking form of his 
almost expiring wife, and pointing with the finger 
of the other to her half dead features, demanded in 
a voice that sounded to the ears of the astounded 
statesman like the last dread trumpet-call, that is 
to summon body and spirit to the judgment-seat, 
M Knowest thou this woman ? ” 

As, at the blast of that last trumpet, the guilty 
shall call upon the mountains to cover them, Lei- 
cester’s inward thoughts invoked the stately arch 
which he had built in his pride, to burst its strong 
conjunction, and overwhelm them in its ruins. But 
the cemented stones, architrave and battlement, 
stood fast; and it was the proud master himself, 
who, as if some actual pressure had bent him to 
the earth, kneeled down before Elizabeth, and pros- 
trated his brow to the marble flag-stones, on which 
she stood. 

“ Leicester,” said Elizabeth, in a voice which 
trembled with passion, “ could I think thou hast 
practised on me — on me thy Sovereign — on me 
thy confiding, thy too partial mistress, the base and 
ungrateful deception which thy present confusion 
surmises — by all that is holy, false lord, that head 
of thine were in as great peril as ever was thy 
father’s ! ” 

Leicester had not conscious innocence, but he had 
pride to support him. He raised slowly his brow 
and features, which were black and swoln with con- 
tending emotions, and only replied, “ My head can- 
not fall but by the sentence of my peers — to them 


236 


KENILWORTH. 


I will plead, and not to a princess who thus re- 
quites my faithful service ! ” 

“ What ! my lords,” said Elizabeth, looking 
around, “ we are defied, I think — defied in the 
Castle we have ourselves bestowed on this proud 
man ! — my Lord Shrewsbury, you are marshal of 
England, attach him of high treason ! ” 

“ Whom does your Grace mean ? ” said Shrews- 
bury, much surprised, for he had that instant joined 
the astonished circle. 

“ Whom should I mean, but that traitor Dudley, 
Earl of Leicester! — Cousin of Hunsdon, ( d ) order 
out your band of gentlemen pensioners, and take him 
into instant custody. — I say, villain, make haste !” 

Hunsdon, a rough old noble, who, from his re- 
lationship to the Boleyns, was accustomed to use 
more freedom with the Queen than almost any 
other dared to do, replied bluntly, “ And it is like 
your Grace might order me to the Tower to-morrow, 
for making too much haste. I do beseech you to 
be patient.” 

“ Patient — God’s life ! ” exclaimed the Queen, 
— “ name not the word to me — thou know’st not 
of what he is guilty ! ” 

Amy, who had by this time in some degree re- 
covered herself, and who saw her husband, as she 
conceived, in the utmost danger from the rage of 
an offended Sovereign, instantly (and alas ! how 
many women have done the same) forgot her own 
wrongs, and her own danger, in her apprehensions 
for him, and throwing herself before the Queen, em- 
braced her knees, while she exclaimed, “ He is 
guiltless, madam — he is guiltless — no one can lay 
aught to the charge of the noble Leicester ! ” 

“ Why, minion,” answered the Queen, “ didst not 


KENILWORTH. 


237 


thou, thyself, say that the Earl of Leicester was 
privy to thy whole history ? ” 

“ Did I say so ? ” repeated the unhappy Amy, 
laying aside every consideration of consistency, and 
of self-interest ; “ 0, if I did, I foully belied him. 
May God so judge me, as I believe he was never 
privy to a thought that would harm me ! ” 

“Woman!” said Elizabeth, “I will know who 
has moved thee to this ; or my wrath — and the 
wrath of kings is a flaming fire — shall wither and 
consume thee like a weed in the furnace.” 

As the Queen uttered this threat, Leicester’s bet- 
ter angel called his pride to his aid, and reproached 
him with the utter extremity of meanness which 
would overwhelm him for ever, if he stooped to take 
shelter under the generous interposition of his wife, 
and abandoned her, in return for her kindness, to 
the resentment of the Queen. He had already 
raised his head, with the dignity of a man of hon- 
our, to avow his marriage, and proclaim himself the 
protector of his Countess, when Varney, born, as it 
appeared, to be his master’s evil genius, rushed into 
the presence, with every mark of disorder on his 
face and apparel. 

“ What means this saucy intrusion ? ” said Eliza- 
beth. 

Varney, with the air of a man altogether over- 
whelmed with grief and confusion, prostrated him- 
self before her feet, exclaiming, “ Pardon, my Liege, 
pardon! — or at least let your justice avenge itself 
on me, where it is due; but spare my noble, my 
generous, my innocent patron and master ! ” 

Amy, who was yet kneeling, started up as she 
saw the man whom she deemed most odious place 
himself so near her, and was about to fly towards 


238 


KENILWORTH. 


Leicester, when, checked at once by the uncertainty 
and even timidity which his looks had reassumed 
as soon as the appearance of his confidant seemed 
to open a new scene, she hung back, and, uttering 
a faint scream, besought of her Majesty to cause 
her to be imprisoned in the lowest dungeon of the 
Castle — to deal with her as the worst of criminals 
— “ but spare,” she exclaimed, “ my sight and hear- 
ing, what will destroy the little judgment I have 
left — the sight of that unutterable and most 
shameless villain ! ” 

“ And why, sweetheart ? ” said the Queen, moved 
by a new impulse ; “ what hath he, this false knight, 
since such thou accountest him, done to thee ? ” 

“ Oh, worse than sorrow, madam, and worse than 
injury — he has sown dissension where most there 
should be peace. I shall go mad if I look longer on 
him ! ” 

“ Beshrew me, but I think thou art distraught 
already,” answered the Queen. — “ My Lord Huns- 
don, look to this poor distressed young woman, and 
let her be safely bestowed, and in honest keeping, 
till we require her to be forthcoming.” 

Two or three of the ladies in attendance, either 
moved by compassion for a creature so interesting, 
or by some other motive, offered their service to 
look after her; but the Queen briefly answered, 
“ Ladies, under favour, no. — You have all (give 
God thanks) sharp ears and nimble tongues — our 
kinsman Hunsdon has ears of the dullest, and a 
tongue somewhat rough, but yet of the slowest. — 
Hunsdon, look to it that none have speech of her.” 

“ By Our Lady ! ” said Hunsdon, taking in his 
strong sinewy arms the fading and almost swooning 
form of Amy, “ she is a lovely child ; and though 


KENILWORTH. 


239 


a rough nurse, your Grace hath given her a kind one. 
She is safe with me as one of my own ladybirds of 
daughters.” 

So saying, he carried her off, unresistingly and 
almost unconsciously ; his war-worn locks and long 
grey beard mingling with her light-brown tresses, 
as her head reclined on his strong square shoulder. 
The Queen followed him with her eye — she had 
already, with that self-command which forms so 
necessary a part of a Sovereign’s accomplishments, 
suppressed every appearance of agitation, and seemed 
as if she desired to banish all traces of her burst of 
passion from the recollection of those who had 
witnessed it. “ My Lord of Hunsdon says well,” 
she observed, “ he is indeed but a rough nurse for 
so tender a babe.” 

“ My Lord of Hunsdon,” said the Dean of St. 
Asaph, " I speak it not in defamation of his more 
noble qualities, hath a broad license in speech, and 
garnishes his discourse somewhat too freely with 
the cruel and superstitious oaths, which savour both 
of profaneness and of old papistrie.” 

“ It is the fault of his blood, Mr. Dean,” said the 
Queen, turning sharply round upon the reverend 
dignitary as she spoke ; “ and you may blame mine 
for the same distemperature. The Boleyns were 
ever a hot and plain-spoken race,, more hasty to 
speak their mind than careful to choose their ex- 
pressions. And, by my word — I hope there is no 
sin in that affirmation — I question if it were much 
cooled by mixing with that of Tudor.” 

As she made this last observation, she smiled gra- 
ciously, and stole her eyes almost insensibly round 
to seek those of the Earl of Leicester, to whom she 
now began to think she had spoken with hasty 


240 


KENILWORTH. 


harshness upon the unfounded suspicion of a 
moment. 

The Queen’s eye found the Earl in no mood to 
accept the implied offer of conciliation. His own 
looks had followed, with late and rueful repentance, 
the faded form which Hunsdon had just borne from 
the presence; they now reposed gloomily on the 
ground, but more — so at least it seemed to Eliza- 
beth — with the expression of one who has received 
an unjust affront, than of him who is conscious of 
guilt. She turned her face angrily from him, and 
said to Varney, “ Speak, Sir Richard, and explain 
these riddles — thou hast sense and the use of speech, 
at least, which elsewhere we look for in vain.” 

As she said this, she darted another resentful 
glance towards Leicester, while the wily Varney 
hastened to tell his own story. 

“Your Majesty’s piercing eye,” he said, “has 
already detected the cruel malady of my beloved 
lady ; which, unhappy that I am, I would not suffer 
to be expressed in the certificate of her physician, 
seeking to conceal what has now broken out with 
so much the more scandal.” 

“ She is then distraught ? ” said the Queen — “ in- 
deed we doubted not of it — Jier whole demeanour 
bears it out. I found her moping in a corner of 
yonder grotto ; and every word she spoke — which 
indeed I dragged from her as by the rack — she in- 
stantly recalled and forswore. But how came she 
hither ? Why had you her not in safe-keeping ? ” 

“ My gracious Liege,” said Varney, “ the worthy 
gentleman under whose charge I left her, Master 
Anthony Foster, has come hither but now, as fast 
as man and horse can travel, to show me of her 
escape, which she managed with the art peculiar to 


KENILWORTH. 


241 


many who are afflicted with this malady. He is at 
hand for examination.” 

“ Let it be for another time,” said the Queen. 
“ But, Sir Richard, we envy you not your domestic 
felicity ; your lady railed orf you bitterly, and seemed 
ready to swoon at beholding you.” 

“ It is the nature of persons in her disorder, so 
please your Grace,” answered Yarney, “ to be ever 
most inveterate in their spleen against those, whom, 
in their better moments, they hold nearest and 
dearest.” 

“We have heard so, indeed,” said Elizabeth, 
“ and give faith to the saying.” 

“ May your Grace then be pleased,” said Yarney, 
“ to command my unfortunate wife to be delivered 
into the custody of her friends ? ” 

Leicester partly started ; but, making a strong 
effort, he subdued his emotion, while Elizabeth 
answered sharply, “ You are something too hasty, 
Master Yarney ; we will have first a report of the 
lady’s health and state of mind from Masters, our 
own physician, and then determine what shall be- 
thought just. You shall have license, however, to see 
her, that if there be any matrimonial quarrel betwixt 
you — such things we have heard do occur, even be- 
twixt a loving couple — you may make it up, without 
further scandal to our court, or trouble to ourselves.” 

Varney bowed low, and made no other answer. 

Elizabeth again looked towards Leicester, and 
said, with a degree of condescension which could 
only arise out of the most heartfelt interest, “ Dis- 
cord, as the Italian poet says, will find her way 
into peaceful convents, as well as into the privacy of 
families ; and we fear our own guards and ushers 
will hardly exclude her from courts. My Lord of 


242 


KENILWORTH. 


Leicester, you are offended with us, and we have 
right to be offended with you. We will take the 
lion’s part upon us, and be the first to forgive.” 

Leicester smoothed his brow, as by an effort, but 
the trouble was too deep-seated that its placidity 
should at once return. He said, however, that which 
fitted the occasion, “ that he could not have the 
happiness of forgiving, because she who commanded 
him to do so, could commit no injury towards him.” 

Elizabeth seemed content with this reply, and in- 
timated her pleasure that the sports of the morning 
should proceed. The bugles sounded — the hounds 
bayed — the horses pranced — but the courtiers and 
ladies sought the amusement to which they were 
summoned with hearts very different from those 
which had leaped to the morning’s reveille. There 
was doubt, and fear, and expectation on every brow, 
and surmise and intrigue in every whisper. 

Blount took an opportunity to whisper into Ra- 
leigh’s ear, “ This storm came like a levanter in the 
Mediterranean.” 

“ Varium et mutabile ” — answered Raleigh, in a 
similar tone. 

“ Nay, I know nought of your Latin,” said Blount; 
“ but I thank God Tressilian took not the sea during 
that hurricano. He could scarce have missed ship- 
wreck, knowing as he does so little how to trim his 
sails to a court gale.” 

“ Thou wouldst have instructed him ? ” said Raleigh. 

"Why, I have profited by my time as well as 
thou, Sir Walter,” replied honest Blount. "I am 
knight as well as thou, and of the earlier creation.” 

“ Now, God further thy wit,” said Raleigh ; “ but 
for Tressilian, I would I knew what were the mat- 
ter with him. He told me this morning he would 


KENILWORTH. 


243 


not leave his chamber for the space of twelve hours 
or thereby, being bound by a promise. This lady’s 
madness, when he shall learn it, will not, I fear, 
cure his infirmity. The moon is at the fullest, and 
men’s brains are working like yeast. But hark ! 
they sound to mount. Let us to horse, Blount : we 
young knights must deserve our spurs.” 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


Sincerity, 

Thou first of virtues ! let no mortal leave 

The onward path, although the earth should gape, 

And from the gulf of hell Destruction cry, 

To take dissimulation’s winding way. 

Douglas. 


It was not till after a loog and successful morning’s 
sport, and a prolonged repast which followed the 
return of the Queen to the Castle, that Leicester 
at length found himself alone with Varney, from 
whom he now learned the whole particulars of the 
Countess’s escape, as they had been brought to 
Kenilworth by Foster, who, in his terror for the 
consequences, had himself posted thither with the 
tidings. As Varney, in his narrative, took especial 
care to be silent concerning those practices on the 
Countess’s health which had driven her to so 
desperate a resolution, Leicester, who could only 
suppose that she had adopted it out of jealous im- 
patience, to attain the avowed state and appearance 
belonging to her rank, was not a little offended at 
the levity with which his wife had broken his strict 
commands, and exposed him to the resentment of 
Elizabeth. 

“ I have given;” he said, “ to this daughter of an 
obscure Devonshire gentleman, the proudest name 
in England. I have made her sharer of my bed and 
of my fortunes. I ask but of her a little patience, 
ere she launches forth upon the full current of her 


KENILWORTH. 


245 


grandeur, and the infatuated woman will rather 
hazard her own shipwreck and mine, will rather in- 
volve me in a thousand whirlpools, shoals, and 
quicksands, and compel me to a thousand devices 
which shame me in mine own eyes, than tarry for 
a little space longer in the obscurity to which she 
was born. — So lovely, so delicate, so fond, so faith- 
ful — yet to lack in so grave a matter the prudence 
which one might hope from the veriest fool — it 
puts me beyond my patience.” 

“We may post it over yet well enough,” said 
Varney, “if my lady will be but ruled, and take on 
her the character which the time commands.” 

“ It is but too true, Sir Richard,” said Leicester, 
“there is indeed no other remedy. I have heard 
her termed thy wife in my presence, without con- 
tradiction. She must bear the title until she is far 
from Kenilworth.” 

“And long afterwards, I trust,” said Varney; then 
instantly added, “ For I cannot but hope it will be 
long after ere she bear the title of Lady Leicester — 
I fear me it may scarce be with safety during the 
life of this Queen. But your lordship is best judge, 
you alone knowing what passages have taken place 
betwixt Elizabeth and you.” 

“You are right, Varney,” said Leicester; “ I have 
this morning been both fool and villain ; and when 
Elizabeth hears of my unhappy marriage, she can- 
not but think herself treated with that premeditated 
slight which women never forgive. We have once 
this day stood upon terms little short of defiance ; 
and to those, I fear, we must again return.” 

“ Is her resentment, then, so implacable ? ” said 
Varney. 

“ Far from it,” replied the Earl ; “ for, being what 


246 


KENILWORTH. 


she is in spirit and in station, she has even this day 
been but too condescending, in giving me opportu- 
nities to repair what she thinks my faulty heat of 
temper.” 

“ Ay,” answered Varney ; “ the Italians say right 
— in lovers’ quarrels, the party that loves most is 
always most willing to acknowledge the greater 
fault. — So then, my lord, if this union with the 
lady could be concealed, you stand with Elizabeth 
as you did ? ” 

Leicester sighed, and was silent for a moment, ere 
he replied. 

“Varney, I think thou art true to me, and I will 
tell thee all. I do not stand where I did. I have 
spoken to Elizabeth — under what mad impulse I 
know not — on a theme which cannot be abandoned 
without touching every female feeling to the quick, 
and which yet I dare not and cannot prosecute. She 
can never, never forgive me, for having caused and 
witnessed those yieldings to human passion.” 

“We must do something, my lord,” said Varney, 
“ and that speedily.” 

“ There is nought to be done,” answered Leicester, 
despondingly ; “ I am like one that has long' toiled 
up a dangerous precipice, and when he is within one 
perilous stride of the top, finds his progress arrested 
when retreat has become impossible. I see above 
me the pinnacle which I cannot reach — beneath 
me the abyss into which I must fall, as soon as my 
relaxing grasp and dizzy brain join to hurl me from 
my present precarious stance.” 

“ Think better of your situation, my lord,” said 
Varney — “let us try the experiment in which you 
have but now acquiesced. Keep we your marriage 
from Elizabeth’s knowledge, and all may yet be well. 


KENILWORTH. 


*47 


I will instantly go to the lady myself — She hates 
me, because I have been earnest with your lordship, 
as she truly suspects, in opposition to what she terms 
her rights. I care not for her prejudices — She shall 
listen to me ; and I will show her such reasons for 
yielding to the pressure of the times, that I doubt 
not to bring back her consent to whatever measures 
these exigencies may require.” 

“No, Varney,” said Leicester; “I have thought 
upon what is to be done, and I will myself speak 
with Amy.” 

It was now Varney’s turn to feel, upon his own 
account, the terrors which he affected to participate 
solely on account of his patron. “Your lordship 
will not yourself speak with the lady ? ” 

“ It is my fixed purpose,” said Leicester ; “ fetch 
me one of the livery-cloaks ; I will pass the sentinel 
as thy servant. Thou art to have free access to 
her.” 

“ But, my* lord ” 

“ I will have no huts ' ’ replied Leicester ; “ it shall 
be even thus, and not otherwise. Hunsdon sleeps, 
I think, in Saintlowe’s Tower. We can go thither 
from these apartments by the private passage, with- 
out risk of meeting any one. Or what if I do meet 
Hunsdon ? he is more my friend than enemy, and 
thick-witted enough to adopt any belief that is thrust 
on him. Fetch me the cloak instantly.” 

Varney had no alternative save obedience. In a 
few minutes Leicester was muffled in the mantle, 
pulled his bonnet over his brows, and followed 
Varney along the secret passage of the Castle which 
communicated with Hunsdon’s apartments, in which 
there was scarce a chance of meeting any inquisi- 
tive person, and hardly light enough for any such 


248 


KENILWORTH. 


to have satisfied their curiosity. They emerged at a 
door where Lord Hunsdon had, with military pre- 
caution, placed a sentinel, one of his own northern 
retainers as it fortuned, who readily admitted Sir 
Richard Varney and his attendant, saying only, in 
his northern dialect, “I would, man, thou couldst 
make the mad lady be still yonder ; for her moans 
do sae dirl through my head, that I would rather 
keep watch on a snow-drift, in the wastes of Cat- 
lowdie.” 

They hastily entered, and shut the door behind 
them. 

“ Now, good devil, if there be one,” said Varney, 
within himself, “ for once help a votary at a dead 
pinch, for my boat is amongst the breakers ! ” 

The Countess Amy, with her hair and her gar- 
ments dishevelled, was seated upon a sort of couch, 
in an attitude of the deepest affliction, out of which 
she was startled by the opening of the door. She 
turned hastily round, and, fixing her eye on Varney, 
exclaimed, “Wretch! art thou come to frame some 
new plan of villainy ? ” 

Leicester cut short her reproaches by stepping 
forward, and dropping his cloak, while he said, in 
a voice rather of authority than of affection, “ It is 
with me, madam, you have to commune, not with 
Sir Richard Varney.” 

The change effected on the Countess’s look and 
manner was like magic. “ Dudley ! ” she exclaimed, 
“Dudley ! and art thou come at last?” And with 
the speed of lightning she flew to her husband, 
clung around his neck, and, unheeding the presence 
of Varney, overwhelmed him with caresses, while 
she bathed his face in a flood of tears ; muttering, 
at the same time, but in broken and disjointed 


KENILWORTH. 


249 


monosyllables, the fondest expressions which Love 
teaches his votaries. 

Leicester, as it seemed to him, had reason to be 
angry with his lady for transgressing his commands, 
and thus placing him in the perilous situation in 
which he had that morning stood. But what dis- 
pleasure could keep its ground before these testi- 
monies of affection from a being so lovely, that even 
the negligence of dress, and the withering effects of 
fear, grief, and fatigue, which would have impaired 
the beauty of others, rendered hers but the more 
interesting ! He received and repaid her caresses 
with fondness, mingled with melancholy, the last 
of which she seemed scarcely to observe, until the 
first transport of her own joy was over ; when, look- 
ing anxiously in his face, she asked if he was ill. 

“ Not in my body, Amy,” was his answer. 

“ Then I will be well too. — 0 Dudley ! I have 
been ill ! — very ill, since we last met ! — for I call 
not this morning’s horrible vision a meeting. I 
have been in sickness, in grief, and in danger — But 
thou art come, and all is joy, and health, and safety ! ” 

“ Alas ! Amy,” said Leicester, “ thou hast undone 
me!” 

“ I, my lord ? ” said Amy, her cheek at once losing 
its transient flush of joy — “how could I injure that 
which I love better than myself ? ” 

“ I would not upbraid you, Amy,” replied the Earl ; 
“ but are you not here contrary to my express com- 
mands — and does not your presence here endanger 
both yourself and me?” 

“ Does it, does it indeed ! ” she exclaimed, eagerly ; 
“ then why am I here a moment longer ? 0, if you 

knew by what fears I was urged to quit Cumnor- 
Place ! — but I will say nothing of myself — only 


250 


KENILWORTH. 


that if it might be otherwise, I would not willingly 
return thither ; — yet if it concern your safety 1 

“ We will think, Amy, of some other retreat/’ said 
Leicester ; “ and you shall go to one of my Northern 
Castles, under the personage — it will be but need- 
ful, I trust, for a very few days — of Varney’s wife.” 

“ How, my Lord of Leicester ! ” said the lady, dis- 
engaging herself from his embraces ; “is it to your 
wife you give the dishonourable counsel to acknow- 
ledge herself the bride of another — and of all men, 
the bride of that Varney ? ” 

“ Madam, I speak it in earnest — Varney is my 
true and faithful servant, trusted in my deepest 
secrets. I had better lose my right hand than his 
service at this moment. You have no cause to scorn 
him as you do.” 

“ I could assign one, my lord,” replied the Count- 
ess ; “and I see he shakes even under that assured 
look of his. But he that is necessary as your right 
hand to your safety, is free from any accusation of 
mine. May he be true to you ; and that he may be 
true, trust him not too much or too far. But it is 
enough to say, that I will not go with him unless 
by violence, nor would I acknowledge him as my 
husband, were all ” 

“ It is a temporary deception, madam,” said Leices- 
ter, irritated by her opposition, “ necessary for both 
our safeties, endangered by you through female 
caprice, or the premature desire to seize on a rank 
to which I gave you title, only under condition that 
our marriage, for a time, should continue secret. If 
my proposal disgust you, it is yourself has brought 
it on both of us. There is no other remedy — you 
must do what your own impatient folly hath ren- 
dered necessary — I command you.” 


I 


KENILWORTH. 


251 


“ I cannot put your commands, my Lord,” said 
Amy, “in balance with those of honour and con- 
science. I will not, in this instance, obey you. 
You may achieve your own dishonour, to which 
these crooked policies naturally tend, but I will do 
nought that can blemish mine. How could you 
again, my lord, acknowledge me as a pure and chaste 
matron, worthy to share your fortunes, when, hold- 
ing that high character, I had strolled the country 
the acknowledged wife of such a profligate fellow as 
your servant Yarney ?” 

“My lord,” said Yarney interposing, “my lady 
is too much prejudiced against me, unhappily, to 
listen to what I can offer; yet it may please her 
better than what she proposes. She has good in- 
terest with Master Edmund Tressilian, and could 
doubtless prevail on him to consent to be her com- 
panion to Lidcote-Hall, and there she might remain 
in safety until time permitted the development of 
this mystery.” 

Leicester was silent, but stood looking eagerly on 
Amy, with eyes which seemed suddenly to glow as 
much with suspicion as displeasure. 

The Countess only said, “Would to God I were 
in my father's house ! — When I left it, I little 
thought I wa3 leaving peace of mind and honour 
behind me.” 

Yarney proceeded with a tone of deliberation. 
“Doubtless this will make it necessary to take 
strangers into my lord’s counsels; but surely the 
Countess will be warrant for the honour of Master 
Tressilian, and such of her father’s family ” 

“Peace, Yarney,” said Leicester; “by Heaven I 
will strike my dagger into thee, if again thou namest 
Tressilian as a partner of my counsels ! ” 


2J2 


KENILWORTH. 


“ And wherefore not ? ” said the Countess ; “ un- 
less they be counsels fitter for such as Varney, than 
for a man of stainless honour and integrity. — - My 
lord, my lord, bend no angry brows on me — it is 
the truth, and it is I who speak it. 1 once did 
Tressilian wrong for your sake — I will not do him 
the further injustice of being silent when his honour is 
brought in question. I can forbear,” she said, looking 
at Varney, “ to pull the mask off hypocrisy, but I will 
not permit virtue to be slandered in my hearing.” 

There was a dead pause. Leicester stood dis- 
pleased, yet undetermined, and too conscious of the 
weakness of his cause ; while Varney, with a deep 
and hypocritical affectation of sorrow, mingled with 
humility, bent his eyes on the ground. 

It was then that the Countess Amy displayed, 
in the midst of distress and difficulty, the natural 
energy of character, which would have rendered 
her, had fate allowed, a distinguished ornament of 
the rank which she held. She walked up to Leices- 
ter with a composed step, a dignified air, and looks 
in which strong affection essayed in vain to shake 
the firmness of conscious truth and rectitude of 
principle. “ You have spoke your mind, my lord,” 
she said, “ in these difficulties, with which, unhap- 
pily, I have found myself unable to comply. This 
gentleman — this person, I would say — has hinted 
at another scheme, to which I object not but as it 
displeases you. Will your lordship be pleased to 
hear what a young and timid woman, but your 
most affectionate wife, can suggest in the present 
extremity ? ” 

Leicester was silent, but bent his head towards 
the Countess, as an intimation that she was at lib- 
erty to proceed. 


KENILWORTH. 


253 


“There hath been but one cause for all these 
evils, my lord,” she proceeded, “and it resolves 
itself into the mysterious duplicity with which you 
have been induced to surround yourself. Extricate 
yourself at once, my lord, from the tyranny of these 
disgraceful trammels. Be like a true English gen- 
tleman, knight, and earl, who holds that truth is 
the foundation of honour, and that honour is dear 
to him as the breath of his nostrils. Take your ill- 
fated wife by the hand, lead her to the footstool of 
Elizabeth’s throne — Say, that in a moment of infat- 
uation, moved by supposed beauty, of which none 
perhaps can now trace even the remains, I gave my 
hand to this Amy Bobsart. — You will then have 
done justice to me, my lord, and to your own hon- 
our ; and should law or power require you to part 
from me, I will oppose no objection — since I may 
then with honour hide a grieved and broken heart 
in those shades from which your love withdrew me. 
Then — have but a little patience, and Amy’s life 
will not long darken your brighter prospects.” 

There was so much of dignity, so much of ten- 
derness, in the Countess’s remonstrance, that it 
moved all that was noble and generous in the soul 
of her husband. The scale seemed to fall from his 
eyes, and the duplicity and tergiversation of which 
he had been guilty stung him at once with remorse 
and shame. 

“ I am not worthy of you, Amy,” he said, “ that 
could weigh aught which ambition has to give 
against such a heart as thine ! I have a bitter pen- 
ance to perform, in disentangling, before sneering 
foes and astounded friends, all the meshes of my 
own deceitful policy. — And the Queen — but let 
her take my head, as she has threatened.” 


*54 


KENILWORTH. 


“Your head, my lord!” said the Countess; "be* 
cause you used the freedom and liberty of an Eng- 
lish subject in choosing a wife ? For shame ; it is 
this distrust of the Queen’s justice, this apprehen- 
sion of danger, which cannot but be imaginary, that, 
like scarecrows, have induced you to forsake the 
straightforward path, which, as it is the best, is also 
the safest.” 

“ Ah, Amy, thou little knowest ! ” said Dudley ; 
but, instantly checking himself, he added, “Yet 
she shall not find in me a safe or easy victim of 
arbitrary vengeance. — I have friends— I have allies 

— I will not, like Norfolk, be dragged to the block, 
as a victim to sacrifice. Fear not, Amy ; thou shalt 
see Dudley bear himself worthy of his name. I 
must instantly communicate with some of those 
friends on whom I can best rely ; for, as things 
stand, I may be made prisoner in my own Castle.” 

“ 0, my good lord,” said Amy, “ make no faction 
in a peaceful state ! There is no friend can help 
us so well as our own candid truth and honour. 
Bring but these to our assistance, and you are eafe 
amidst a whole army of the envious and malignant. 
Leave these behind you, and all other defence will 
be fruitless. Truth, my noble lord, is well painted 
unarmed.” 

“But Wisdom, Amy,” answered .Leicester, “is 
arrayed in panoply of proof. Argue not with me 
on the means I shall use to render my confession — 
since it must be called so — as safe as may be ; it will 
be fraught with enough of danger, do what we will. 

— Varney, we must hence. — Farewell, Amy, whom 
I am to vindicate as mine own, at an expense and 
risk of which thou alone couldst be worthy ! You 
shall soon hear farther from me.” 


Kenilworth. 


He embraced her fervently, muffled himself as 
before, and accompanied Varney from the apart- 
ment. The latter, as he left the room, bowed low, 
and, as he raised his body, regarded Amy with a 
peculiar expression, as if he desired to know how 
far his own pardon was included in the reconcilia- 
tion which had taken place betwixt her and her 
lord. The Countess looked upon him with a fixed 
eye, but seemed no more conscious of his presence, 
than if there had been nothing but vacant air on 
the spot where he stood. 

“ She has brought me to the crisis,” he muttered 
— “She or I are lost. There was something — I 
wot not if it was fear or pity — that prompted me 
to avoid this fatal crisis. It is now decided — She 
or I must perish .” 

While he thus spoke, he observed, with surprise, 
that a boy, repulsed by the sentinel, made up to Lei- 
cester, and spoke with him. Varney was one of those 
politicians, whom not the slightest appearances es- 
cape without enquiry. He asked the sentinel what 
the lad wanted with him, and received for answer, 
that the boy had wished him to transmit a parcel to 
the mad lady, but that he cared not to take charge 
of it, such communication being beyond his com- 
mission. His curiosity satisfied in that particular, 
he approached his patron, and heard him say — 
“ Well, boy, the packet shall be delivered.” 

“ Thanks, good Master Serving-man,” said the 
boy, and was out of sight in an instant. 

Leicester and Varney returned with hasty steps 
to the Earl’s private apartment, by the same passage 
which had conducted them to Saintlowe's Tower. 


CHAPTER XIX. 


I have said 

This is an adulteress — I have said with whom : 
More, she’s a traitor, and Camillo is 
A federary with her, and one that knows 
What she should shame to know herself. 

Winter's Tale . 


They were no sooner in the Earl’s cabinet, than, 
taking his tablets from his pocket, he began to write, 
speaking partly to Varney, and partly to himself : 

— “ There are many of them close bounden to me, 
and especially those in good estate and high office ; 
many who, if they look back towards my benefits, or 
forward towards the perils which may befall them- 
selves, will not, I think, be disposed to see me stagger 
unsupported. Let me see — Knollis is sure, and 
through his means Guernsey and Jersey — Horsey 
commands in the Isle of Wight — My brother-in- 
law, Huntingdon, and Pembroke, have authority in 
Wales — Through Bedford I lead the Puritans, with 
their interest, so powerful in all the boroughs — My 
brother of Warwick is equal, wellnigh, to myself, 
in wealth, followers, and dependencies — Sir Owen 
Hopton is at my devotion ; he commands the Tower 
of London, and the national treasure deposited there 

— My father and grandfather needed never to have 
stooped their heads to the block, had they thus fore- 
cast their enterprises. — Why look you so sad, Var- 
ney ? I tell thee, a tree so deep-rooted is not easily 
to be torn up by the tempest’' 


KENILWORTH. 


25 ? 


"Alas! my lord,” said Varney, with well-acted 
passion, and then resumed the same look of despond- 
ency which Leicester had before noted. 

“ Alas ! ” repeated Leicester, “ and wherefore alas, 
Sir Richard ? Doth your new spirit of chivalry 
supply no more vigorous ejaculation, when a noble 
struggle is impending ? Or, if alas means thou 
wilt flinch from the conflict, thou mayst leave the 
Castle, or .go join mine enemies, whichever thou 
thinkest best.” 

“ Not so, my lord,” answered his confident ; “ Var- 
ney will be found fighting or dying by your side. 
Forgive me, if, in love to you, I see more fully than 
your noble heart permits you to do, the inextricable 
difficulties with which you are surrounded. You 
are strong, my lord, and powerful ; yet, let me say 
it without offence, you are so only by the reflected 
light of the Queen’s favour. While you are Eliza- 
beth’s favourite, you are all, save in name, like an 
actual sovereign. But let her call back the honours 
she has bestowed, and the Prophet’s gourd did not 
wither more suddenly. Declare against the Queen, 
and I do not say that in the wide nation, or in this 
province alone, you would find yourself instantly 
deserted and outnumbered ; but I will say, that even 
in this very Castle, and in the midst of your vassals, 
kinsmen, and dependants, you would be a captive, 
nay, a sentenced captive, should she please to say 
the word. Think upon Norfolk my lord, — upon 
the powerful Northumberland, — the splendid West- 
moreland ; — think on all who have made head 
against this sage Princess. They are dead, captive, 
or fugitive. This is not like other thrones, which 
can be overturned by a combination of powerful 
nobles ; the broad foundations which support it are 


258 


KENILWORTH. 


in the extended love and affections of the people. 
You might share it with Elizabeth if you would ; 
but neither yours, nor any other power, foreign or do- 
mestic, will avail to overthrow, or even to shake it.” 

He paused, and Leicester threw his tablets from 
him with an air of reckless despite. “ It may be as 
thou say’st,” he said; “and, in sooth, I care not 
whether truth or cowardice dictate thy forebodings. 
But it shall not he said I fell without a struggle. — 
Give orders that those of my retainers who served 
under me in Ireland be gradually drawn into the 
main Keep, and let our gentlemen and friends stand 
on their guard, and go armed, as if they expected I 
an onset from the followers of Sussex. Possess the 
townspeople with some apprehension , let them take 
arms, and he ready, at a signal given, to overpower 
the Pensioners and Yeomen of the Guard.” 

“ Let me remind you, my lord,” said Varney, with 
the same appearance of deep and melancholy in- 
terest, “ that you have given me orders to prepare for 
disarming the Queen’s guard. It is an act of high 
treason, but you shall nevertheless be obeyed.” 

“ I care not,” said Leicester, desperately ; — “I 
care not. Shame is behind me, Ruin before me ; 

I must on.” 

Here there was another pause, which Varney at 
length broke with the following words : “ It is come 1 
to the point I have long dreaded. I must either 
witness, like an ungrateful beast, the downfall of the 
best and kindest of masters, or I must speak what 
I would have buried in the deepest oblivion, or told 
by any other mouth than mine.” 

“ What is that thou sayst, or wouldst say ? ” re- 
plied the Earl ; “ we have no time to waste on words, 
when the time calls us to action.” 


KENILWORTH. 


250 


“ My speech is soon made, my lord — would to 
God it were as soon answered ! Your marriage is 
the sole cause of the threatened breach with your 
Sovereign, my lord, is it not ? ” 

“ Thou knowest it is ! ” replied Leicester. “ What 
needs so fruitless a question ? M 

“Pardon me, my lord,” said Varney; “the use 
lies here. Men will wager their lands and lives in 
defence of a rich diamond, my lord ; but were it 
not first prudent to look if there is no flaw in it ? ” 

“ What means this ? ” said Leicester, with eyes 
sternly fixed on his dependant ; “ of whom dost 
thou dare to speak ? ” 

“ It is of the Countess Amy, my lord, of whom 

I am unhappily bound to speak ; and of whom I will 
speak, were your lordship to kill me for my zeal.” 

“ Thou mayst happen to deserve it at my hand,” 
said the Earl ; “ but speak on, I will hear thee.” 

“ Nay, then, my lord, I will be bold. I speak for 
my own life as well as for your lordship’s. I like 
not this lady’s tampering and trickstering with this 
same Edmund Tressilian. You know him, my lord. 
You know he had formerly an interest in her, which 
it cost your lordship some pains to supersede. You 
know the eagerness with which he has pressed on 
the suit against me in behalf of this lady, the open 
object of which is to drive your lordship to an 
avowal of what I must ever call your most unhappy 
marriage, the point to which my lady also is will- 
ing, at any risk, to urge you.” 

Leicester smiled constrainedly. “ Thou meanest 
well, good Sir Richard, and wouldst, I think, sacri- 
fice thine own honour, as well as that of any other 
person, to save me from what thou think st a step so 
terrible. But, remember,” — he spoke these words 


KENILWORTH. 


260 

with the most stern decision, — “ you speak of the 
Countess of Leicester.” 

“ I do, my lord,” said Varney ; “ but it is for the 
welfare of the Earl of Leicester. My tale is but 
begun. I do most strongly believe that this Tressi- 
lian has, from the beginning of his moving in her 
cause, been in connivance with her ladyship the 
Countess.” 

“Thou speak’st wild madness, Varney, with the 
sober face of a preacher. Where, or how, could they 
communicate together ? ” 

“ My lord,” said Varney, “ unfortunately I can 
show that but too well. It was just before the 
supplication was presented to the Queen, in Tressi- 
lian’s name, that I met him, to my utter astonish- 
ment, at the postern-gate, which leads from the 
demesne at Cumnor-Place.” 

“ Thou met’st him, villain ! and why didst thou 
not strike him dead ? ” exclaimed Leicester. 

“ I drew on him, my lord, and he on me ; and had 
not my foot slipped, he would not, perhaps, have been 
again a stumbling-block in your lordship’s path.” 

Leicester seemed struck dumb with surprise. 
At length he answered, “ What other evidence hast 
thou of this, Varney, save thine own assertion? — 
for, as I will punish deeply, I will examine coolly 
and warily. Sacred Heaven ! but no — I will exam- 
ine coldly and warily — coldly and warily.” He 
repeated these words more than once to himself, as 
if in the very sound there was a sedative quality ; 
and again compressing his lips, as if he feared some 
violent expression might escape from them, he 
asked again, “ What farther proof ? ” 

“Enough, my lord,” said Varney, “and to spare. 
I would it rested with me alone, for with me it might 


KENILWORTH. 


261 


have been silenced for ever. But my servant, Mr 
chael Lambourne, witnessed the whole, and was, 
indeed, the means of first introducing Tressilian into 
Cumnor-Place ; and therefore I took him into my 
service, and retained him in it, though something of 
a debauched fellow, that I might have his tongue al- 
ways under my own command.” He then acquainted 
Lord Leicester how easy it was to prove the cir- 
cumstance of their interview .true, by evidence of 
Anthony Foster, with the corroborative testimonies 
of the various persons at Cumnor, who had heard 
the wager laid, and had seen Lambourne and Tres- 
silian set off together. In the whole narrative, Var- 
ney hazarded nothing fabulous, excepting that, 
not indeed by direct assertion, but by inference, he 
led his patron to suppose that the interview be- 
twixt Amy and Tressilian at Cumnor-Place had 
been longer than the few minutes to which it was 
in reality limited. 

“ And wherefore was I not told of all this ? ” said 
Leicester, sternly. “Why did all of ye — and in 
particular thou, Varney — keep back from me such 
material information ? ” 

“ Because my lord,” replied Varney, “ the Coun- 
tess pretended to Foster and to me, that Tressilian 
had intruded himself upon her ; and I concluded 
their interview had been in all honour, and that she 
would at her own time tell it to your lordship. 
Your lordship knows with what unwilling ears we 
listen to evil surmises against those whom we 
love ; and I thank Heaven, I am- no make-bate or 
informer, to be the first to sow them.” 

“ You are but too ready to receive them, however, 
Sir Richard,” replied his patron. “ How know’st 
thou that this interview was not in all honour, as 


262 


KENILWORTH. 


thou hast said ? Methinks the wife of the Earl of 
Leicester might speak for a. short time with such a 
person as Tressilian, without injury to me, or sus- 
picion to herself.” 

“Questionless, my lord,” answered Varney ; “ had 
I thought otherwise, I had been no keeper of the 
secret. But here lies the rub — Tressilian leaves not 
the place without establishing a correspondence with 
a poor man, the landlord of an inn in Cumnor, for the 
purpose of carrying off the lady. He sent down an 
emissary of his, whom I trust soon to have in right 
sure keeping under Mervyn’s Tower. Killigrew 
and Lambsbey are scouring the country in quest of 
him. The host is rewarded with a ring for keeping 
counsel — your lordship may have noted it on Tres- 
silian’s hand — here it is. This fellow, this agent, 
makes his way to the Place as a pedlar, holds con- 
ferences with the lady, and they make their escape 
together by night — rob a poor fellow, of a horse by 
the way, such was their guilty haste ; and at length 
reach this Castle, where the Countess of Leicester 
finds refuge — I dare not say in what place.” 

“ Speak, I command thee,” said Leicester ; 
“ speak, while I retain sense enough to hear thee.” 

“Since it must be so,” answered Varney, “the 
lady resorted immediately to the apartment of Tres- 
silian, where she remained many hours, partly in 
company with him, and partly alone. I told you 
Tressilian had a paramour in his chamber — I little 
dreamed that paramour was ” 

“Amy, thou wouldst say,” answered Leicester; 
“ but it is false, false as the smoke of hell ! Ambi- 
tious she may be — fickle and impatient — ’tis a 
woman’s fault ; but false to me ! — never, never. — 
The proof — the proof of this ! ” he exclaimed, hastily 


KENILWORTH. 


263 


“Carrol, the Deputy Marshal, ushered her thi- 
ther by her own desire, on yesterday afternoon — 
Lambourne and the Warder both found her there 
at an early hour this morning.” 

“Was Tressilian there with her?” said Leicester, 
in the same hurried tone. 

“No, my lord. You may remember/’ answered 
Varney, “that he was that night placed with Sir 
Nicholas Blount, under a species of arrest.” 

“ Did Carrol, or the other fellows, know who she 
was ? ” demanded Leicester. 

“No, my lord,” replied Varney; “Carrol and the 
Warder had never seen the Countess, and Lam- 
bourne knew her not in her disguise ; but, in seek- 
ing to prevent her leaving the cell, he obtained pos- 
session of one of her gloves, which, I think, your 
lordship may know.” 

He gave the glove, which had the Bear and 
Ragged Staff, the Earl’s impress, embroidered upon 
it in seed-pearls. 

“ I do, I do recognise it,” said Leicester. “ They 
were my own gift. The fellow of it was on the 
arm which she threw this very day around my 
neck ! ” — He spoke this with violent agitation. 

“Your lordship,” said Varney, “might yet fur- 
ther enquire of the lady herself, respecting the truth 
of these passages.” 

“ It needs not — it needs not,” said the tortured 
Earl; “it is written in characters of burning light, 
as if they were branded on my very eyeballs ! I see 
her infamy — I can see nought else ; and, — gracious 
Heaven ! — for this vile woman was I about to com- 
mit to danger the lives of so many noble friends — • 
shake the foundation of a lawful throne — carry the 
sword and torch through the bosom of a peaceful 


264 


KENILWORTH. 


land — wrong the kind mistress who made me what 
I am — and would, but for that hell-framed mar- 
riage, have made me all that man can be ! All this 
I was ready to do for a woman, who trinkets and 
traffics with my worst foes ! — And thou, villain, 
why didst thou not speak sooner ? ” 

“ My lord,” said Varney, “ a tear from my lady 
would have blotted out all I could have said. Be- 
sides, I had not these proofs until this very morn- 
ing, when Anthony Foster’s sudden arrival, with 
the examinations and declarations, which he had 
extorted from the innkeeper Gosling, and others, 
explained the manner of her flight from Cumnor- 
Place, and my own researches discovered the steps 
which she had taken here.” 

“ Now, may God he praised for the light he has 
given ! so full, so satisfactory, that there breathes 
not a man in England who shall call my proceed- 
ing rash, or my revenge unjust. — And yet, Varney, 
so young, so fair, so fawning, and so false ! Hence, 
then, her hatred to thee, my trusty, my well-be- 
loved servant, because you withstood her plots, and 
endangered her paramour’s life ! ” 

“I never gave her any other cause of dislike, my 
lord,” replied Varney ; “ but she knew that my coun- 
sels went directly to diminish her influence with 
your lordship ; and that I was, and have been, ever 
ready to peril my life against your enemies.” 

“ It is too, too apparent,” replied Leicester ; “ yet, 
with what an air of magnanimity she exhorted me 
to commit my head to the Queen’s mercy, rather 
than wear the veil of falsehood a moment longer ! 
Methinks the angel of truth himself can have 
no such tones of high-souled impulse. Can it be 
so, Varney? — Can falsehood use thus boldly the 


KENILWORTH. 


365 

language of truth ? — Can infamy thus assume the 
guise of purity ? — Varney, thou hast been my ser- 
vant from a child — I have raised thee high — can 
raise thee higher. Think, think for me ! Thy brain 
was ever shrewd and piercing — May she not be 
innocent ? Prove her so, and all I have yet done 
for thee shall be as nothing — nothing — in com- 
parison of thy recompense ! ” 

The agony with which his master spoke had 
some effect even on the hardened Varney, who, in 
the midst of his own wicked and ambitious designs, 
really loved his patron as well, as such a wretch 
was capable of loving any thing ; but he comforted 
himself, and subdued his self-reproaches, with the 
reflection, that if he inflicted upon the Earl some 
immediate and transitory pain, it was in order to 
pave his way to the throne, which, were this mar- 
riage dissolved by death or otherwise, he deemed 
Elizabeth would willingly share with his benefactor. 
He therefore persevered in his diabolical policy ; 
and, after a moment’s consideration, answered the 
anxious queries of the Earl with a melancholy look, 
as if he had in vain sought some exculpation for 
the Countess; then suddenly raising his head, he 
said, with an expression of hope, which instantly 
communicated itself to the countenance of his pa- 
tron, — “ Yet wherefore, if guilty, should she have 
perilled herself by coming hither ? Why not rather 
have fled to her father’s, or elsewhere ? — though 
that, indeed, might have interfered with her desire 
to be acknowledged as Countess of Leicester.” 

« True, true, true ! ” exclaimed Leicester, his tran- 
sient gleam of hope giving way to the utmost bit- 
terness of feeling and expression; “thou art not 
fit to fathom a woman’s depth of wit, Varney. I 


266 


KENILWORTH. 


see it all. She would not quit the estate and title 
of the wittol who had wedded her. Ay, and if in 
my madness I had started into rebellion, or if the 
angry Queen had taken my head, as she this morn- 
ing threatened, the wealthy dower which law would 
have assigned to the Countess Dowager of Leices- 
ter, had been no bad windfall to the beggarly Tres- 
silian. Well might she goad me on to danger, 
which could not end. otherwise than profitably to 
her. — Speak not for her, Varney! I will have her 
blood ! ” 

“ My lord,” replied Varney, “ the wildness of 
your distress breaks forth in the wildness of your 
language.” 

“ I say, speak not for her ! ” replied Leicester ; 
“ she has dishonoured me — she would have mur- 
dered me — all ties are burst between us. She 
shall die the death of a traitress and adulteress, 
well merited both by the laws of God and man ! 
And — what is this casket,” he said, " which was 
even now thrust into my hand by a boy, with the 
desire I would convey it to Tressilian, as he could 
not give it to the Countess ? By Heaven ! the words 
surprised me as he spoke them, though other mat- 
ters chased them from my brain ; but now they 
return with double force. — It is her casket of jew- 
els ! — Force it open, Varney; force the hinges open 
with thy poniard.” 

“ She refused the aid of my dagger once,” thought 
Varney, as he unsheathed the weapon, “ to cut the 
string which bound a letter, but now it shall work 
a mightier ministry in her fortunes.” 

With this reflection, by using the three-cornered 
stiletto-blade as a wedge, he forced open the slen- 
der silver hinges of the casket. The Earl no sooner 


KENILWORTH. 


267 

saw them give way, than he snatched the casket 
from Sir Richard’s hand, wrenched off th6 cover, 
and tearing out the splendid contents, flung them 
on the floor in a transport of rage, while he eagerly 
searched for some letter or billet, which should 
make the fancied guilt of his innocent Countess 
yet more apparent. Then stamping furiously on 
the gems, he exclaimed, “ Thus I annihilate the 
miserable toys for which thou hast sold thyself, 
body and soul, consigned thyself to an early and 
timeless death, and me to misery and remorse for 
ever! — Tell me not of forgiveness, Varney — She 
is doomed ! ” 

So saying, he left the room, and rushed into an 
adjacent closet, the door of which he locked and 
bolted. 

Varney looked after him, while something of a 
more human feeling seemed to contend with his 
habitual sneer. “ I am sorry for his weakness,” he 
said, “but love has made him a child. He throws 
down and treads on these costly toys — with the 
same vehemence would he dash to pieces this frail- 
est toy of all, of which he used to rave so fondly. 
But that taste also will be forgotten when its object 
is no more. Well, he has no eye to value things as 
they deserve, and that nature has given to Varney, 
When Leicester shall be a sovereign, he will think 
as little of the gales of passion, through which he 
gained that royal port, as ever did sailor in harbour, 
of the perils of a voyage. But these tell-tale articles 
must not remain here — they are rather too rich 
vails for the drudges who dress the chamber.” 

While Varney was employed in gathering to- 
gether and putting them into a secret drawer of 
a cabinet that chanced to be unlocked, he saw the 


268 


KENILWORTH. 


door of Leicester’s closet open, the tapestry pushed 
aside, and the Earl’s face thrust out, but with eyes 
so dead, and lips and cheeks so bloodless and pale, 
that he started at the sudden change. No sooner 
did his eyes encounter the Earl’s, than the latter 
withdrew his head, and shut the door of the closet. 
This manoeuvre Leicester repeated twice, without 
speaking a word, so that Varney began to doubt 
whether his brain was not actually affected by his 
mental agony. The third time, however, he beck- 
oned, and Varney obeyed the signal. When he 
entered, he soon found his patron’s perturbation 
was not caused by insanity, but by the fellness of 
purpose which he entertained, contending with 
various contrary passions. They passed a full 
hour in close consultation ; after which the Earl 
of Leicester, with an incredible exertion, dressed 
himself, and went to attend his royal guest. 


CHAPTER XX. 


You have displaced the mirth, broke the good meeting 
With most admired disorder. 

Macbeth. 

'It was afterwards remembered, that during the ban- 
quets • and revels which occupied the remainder of 
this eventful day, the bearing of Leicester and of 
Varney were totally different from their usual de- 
meanour. Sir Richard Varney had been held rather 
a man of counsel and of action, than a votary of 
pleasure. Business, whether civil or military, seemed 
always to be his proper sphere ; and while in festi- 
vals and revels, although he well understood how to 
trick them up and present them, his own part was 
that of a mere spectator ; or, if he exercised his wit, it 
was in a rough, caustic, and severe manner, rather as 
if he scoffed at the exhibition and the guests, than 
shared the common pleasure. 

But upon the present day his character seemed 
changed. He mixed among the younger courtiers 
and ladies, and appeared for the moment to be actu- 
ated by a spirit of light-hearted gaiety, which ren- 
dered him a match for the liveliest. Those who had 
looked upon him as a man given up to graver and 
more ambitious pursuits, a bitter sneerer and passer 
of sarcasms at the expense of those, who, taking life 
as they find it, were disposed to snatch at each pas- 
time it presents, now perceived with astonishment 


270 


KENILWORTH. 


that his wit could carry as smooth an edge as their 
own, his laugh be as lively, and his brow as un- 
clouded. By what art of damnable hypocrisy he 
could draw this veil of gaiety over the black thoughts 
of one of the worst of human bosoms, must remain 
unintelligible to all but his compeers, if any such 
ever existed, but he was a man of extraordinary 
powers, and those powers were unhappily dedicated 
in all their energy to the very worst of purposes. 

It was entirely different with Leicester. However 
habituated his mind usually was to play the part of 
a good courtier, and appear gay, assiduous, and free* 
from all care but that of enhancing the pleasure of 
the moment, while his bosom internally throbbed 
with the pangs of unsatisfied ambition, jealousy, or 
resentment, his heart had now a yet more dreadful 
guest, whose workings could not be overshadowed 
or suppressed ; and you might read in his vacant eye 
and troubled brow, that his thoughts were far absent 
from the scenes in which he was compelling himself 
to play a part. He looked, moved, and spoke, as if 
by a succession of continued efforts ; and it seemed 
as if his will had in some degree lost the prompti- 
tude of command over the acute mind and goodly 
form of which it was the regent. His actions and 
gestures, instead of appearing the consequence of 
simple volition, seemed, like those of an automaton, 
to wait the revolution of some internal machinery 
ere they could be performed ; and his words fell from 
him piecemeal, interrupted, as if he had first to think 
what he was to say, then how it was to be said, and 
as if, after all, it was only by an effort of continued 
attention that he completed a sentence without for- 
getting both the one and the other. 

The singular effects which these distractions of 


KENILWORTH. 


271 


mind produced upon the behaviour and conversa- 
tion of the most accomplished courtier of England, as 
they were visible to the lowest and dullest menial 
who approached his person, could not escape the no- 
tice of the most intelligent princess of the age. Nor 
is there the least doubt, that the alternate negligence 
and irregularity of his manner, would have called 
down Elizabeth’s severe displeasure on the Earl of 
Leicester, had it not occurred to her to account for 
it, by supposing that the apprehension of that dis- 
pleasure which she had expressed towards him with 
such vivacity that very morning, was dwelling upon 
the spirits of her favourite, and, spite of his efforts 
to the contrary, distracted the usual graceful tenor 
of his mien, and the charms of his conversation. 
When this idea, so flattering to female vanity, had 
once obtained possession of her mind, it proved a 
full and satisfactory apology for the numerous er- 
rors and mistakes of the Earl of Leicester ; and the 
watchful circle around observed with astonishment, 
that, instead of resenting his repeated negligence, 
and want of even ordinary attention, (although these 
were points on which she was usually extremely 
punctilious,) the Queen sought, on the contrary, to 
afford him time and means to recollect himself, and 
deigned to assist him in doing so, with an indul- 
gence which seemed altogether inconsistent with her 
usual character. It was clear, however, that this 
could not last much longer, and that Elizabeth must 
finally put another and more severe construction on 
Leicester’s uncourteous conduct, when the Earl was 
summoned by Varney to speak with him in a differ- 
ent apartment. 

After having had the message twice delivered to 
him, he rose, and was about to withdraw, as it were, 


272 


KENILWORTH. 


by instinct — then stopped, and turning round, en- 
treated permission of the Queen to absent himself for 
a brief space upon matters of pressing importance. 

“ Go, my lord,” said the Queen ; “ we are aware our 
presence must occasion sudden and unexpected oc- 
currences, which require to be provided for on the 
instant. Yet, my lord, as you would have us believe 
ourself your welcome and honoured guest, we en- 
treat you to think less of our good cheer, and favour 
us with more of your good countenance, than we 
have this day enjoyed ; for, whether prince or peasant 
be the guest, the welcome of the host will always be 
the better part of the entertainment. Go, my lord ; 
and we trust to see you return with an unwrinkled 
brow, and those free thoughts which you are wont 
to have at the disposal of your friends.” 

Leicester only bowed low in answer to this re- 
buke, and retired. At the door of the apartment he 
was met by Varney, who eagerly drew him apart, 
and whispered in his ear, “ All is well ! ” 

“ Has Masters seen her ? ” said the Earl. 

“ He has, my lord ; and as she would neither an- 
swer his queries, nor allege any reason for her re- 
fusal, he will give full testimony that she labours 
under a mental disorder, and may be best committed 
to the charge of her friends. The opportunity is 
therefore free, to remove her as we proposed.” 

“ But Tressilian ? ” said Leicester. 

“He will not know of her departure for some 
time,”* replied Varney ; “ it shall take place this very 
evening, and to-morrow he shall be cared for.” 

“ No, by my soul,” answered Leicester ; “ I will 
take vengeance on him with mine own hand ! ” 

“ You, my lord, and on so inconsiderable a man as 
Tressilian ! — No, my lord, he hath long wished to 


KENILWORTH. 


2 73 

visit foreign parts. Trust him to me — I will take 
care he returns not hither to tell tales” 

“Not so, by Heaven, Varney ! ” exclaimed Leices- 
ter. — “Inconsiderable do you call an enemy, that 
hath had power to wound me so deeply, that my 
whole after life must be one scene of remorse and 
misery ? — No ; rather than forego the right of 
doing myself justice with my own hand on that 
accursed villain, I will unfold the whole truth at 
Elizabeth’s footstool, and let her vengeance descend 
at once on them and on myself.” 

Varney saw with great alarm that his lord was 
wrought up to such a pitch of agitation, that if he 
gave not way to him, he was perfectly capable of 
adopting the desperate resolution which he had 
announced, and which was instant ruin to all the 
schemes of ambition which Varney had formed for 
his patron and for himself. But the Earl’s rage 
seemed at once uncontrollable and deeply concen- 
trated ; and while he spoke, his eyes shot fire, his 
voice trembled with excess of passion, and the light 
foam stood on his lip. 

His confidant made a bold and successful effort 
to obtain the mastery of him even in this hour of 
emotion. — “ My lord,” he said, leading him to a 
mirror, “ behold your reflection in that glass, and 
think if these agitated features belong to one who, 
in a condition so extreme, is capable of forming a 
resolution for himself.” 

“ What, then, wouldst thou make me ? ” said 
Leicester, struck at the change in his own phy- 
siognomy, though offended at the freedom with 
which Varney made the appeal. “Am I to be thy 
ward, thy vassal, — the property and subject of 
my servant ? ” 


274 


KENILWORTH. 


“No, my lord,” said Varney, firmly, “but be 
master of yourself, and of your own passion. My 
lord, I, your born servant, am shamed to see how 
poorly you bear yourself in the storm of fury. Go 
to Elizabeth’s feet, confess your marriage — impeach 
your wife and her paramour of adultery — and avow 
yourself, amongst all your peers, the wittol who 
married a country girl, and was cozened by her 
and her book-learned gallant. — Go, my lord — but 
first take farewell of Richard Varney, with all the 
benefits you ever conferred on him. He served the 
noble, the lofty, the high-minded Leicester, and was 
more proud of depending on him, than he would be 
of commanding thousands. But the abject lord 
who stoops to every adverse circumstance, whose 
judicious resolves are scattered like chaff before 
every wind of passion, him Richard Varney serves 
not. He is as much above him in constancy of 
mind, as beneath him in rank and fortune.” 

Varney spoke thus without hypocrisy, for, though 
the firmness of mind which he boasted was hard- 
ness and impenetrability, yet he really felt the as- 
cendency which he vaunted ; while the interest 
which he actually felt in the fortunes of Leicester, 
gave unusual emotion to his voice and manner. 

Leicester was overpowered by his assumed su- 
periority ; it seemed to the unfortunate Earl as if 
his last friend was about to abandon him. He 
stretched his hand towards Varney, as he uttered 
the words, “ Do not leave me — What wouldst thou, 
have me do ? ” 

“ Be thyself, my nqjde master,” said Varney, 
touching the Earl’s hand with his lips, after having 
respectfully grasped it in his own ; “ be yourself, 
superior to those storms of passion which wreck 


KENILWORTH 


275 


inferior minds. Are you the first who has been 
cozened in love ? The first whom a vain and licen- 
tious woman has cheated into an affection, which she 
has afterwards scorned and misused ? And will you 
suffer yourself to be driven frantic, because you 
have not been wiser than the wisest men whom the 
world has seen ? Let her be as if she had not been 

— let her pass from your memory, as unworthy of 
ever having held a place there. Let your strong 
resolve of this morning, which I have both courage, 
zeal, and means enough to execute, be like the fiat 
of a superior being, a passionless act of justice. Sl\e 
hath deserved death — let her die ! ” 

While he was speaking, the Earl held his hand 
fast, compressed his lips hard, and frowned, as if he 
laboured to catch from Varney a portion of the 
cold, ruthless, and dispassionate firmness which he 
recommended. When he was silent, the Earl still 
continued to grasp his hand, until, with an effort at 
calm decision, he was able to articulate, “ Be it so 

— she dies ! — But one tear might be permitted.” 

“ Not one, my lord,” interrupted Varney, who 
saw by the quivering eye and convulsed cheek of 
his patron, that he was about to give way to a burst 
of emotion, — “Not a tear — the time permits it 
not — Tressilian must be thought of ” 

“ That indeed is a name,” said the Earl, “ to con- 
vert tears into blood. Varney, I have thought on 
this, and I have determined — neither entreaty nor 
argument shall move me — Tressilian shall be my 
own victim.” 

“ It is madness, my lord ; but you are too mighty 
for me to bar your way to your revenge. Yet re- 
solve at least to choose fitting time and opportunity 
and to forbear him until those shall be found.’" 


276 


KENILWORTH, 


“ Thou shalt order me in what thou wilt,” said 
Leicester, “ only thwart me not in this.” 

“Then, my lord,” said Varney, “I first request 
of you to lay aside the wild, suspected, and half- 
frenzied demeanour, which hath this day drawn the 
eyes of all the court upon you ; and which, but for 
the Queen’s partial indulgence, which she hath ex- 
tended towards you in a degree far beyond her 
nature, she had never given you the opportunity to 
atone for.” 

“ Have I indeed been so negligent ? ” said Leices- 
ter, as one who awakes from a dream ; “ I thought 
I had coloured it well ; but fear nothing, my mind 
is now eased — I am calm My horoscope shall be 
fulfilled ; and that it may be fulfilled, I will tax to 
the highest every faculty of my mind. Fear me 
not, I say — I will to the Queen instantly — not 
thine own looks and language shall be more impen- 
etrable than mine. — Hast thou aught else to say ? ” 

“ I must crave your signet-ring,” said Varney, 
gravely, “ in token to those of your servants whom 
I must employ, that I possess your full authority 
in commanding their aid.” 

Leicester drew off the signet-ring, which he com- 
monly used, and gave it to Varney with a haggard 
and stern expression of countenance, adding only, 
in a low, half-whispered tone, but with terrific em- 
phasis, the words, “ What thou dost, do quickly.” 

Some anxiety and wonder took place, meanwhile, 
in the presence-hall, at the prolonged absence of the 
noble Lord of the Castle, and great was the delight 
of his friends, when they saw him enter as a man, 
from whose bosom, to all human seeming, a weight 
of care had been just removed. Amply did Leices- 
ter that day redeem the pledge he had given to 


KENILWORTH. 


VI 


Varney, who soon saw himself no longer under the 
necessity of maintaining a character so different 
from his own, as that which he had assumed in the 
earlier part of the day, and gradually relapsed into 
the same grave, shrewd, caustic observer of conver- 
sation and incident, which constituted his usual 
part in society. 

With Elizabeth, Leicester played his game as 
one, to whom her natural strength of talent, and her 
weakness in one or two particular points, were well 
known. He was too wary to exchange on a sudden 
the sullen personage which he had played before he 
retired with Varney; but, on approaching her, it 
seemed softened into a melancholy, which had a 
touch of tenderness in it, and which, in the course 
of conversing with Elizabeth, and as she dropped in 
compassion one mark of favour after another to con- 
sole him, passed into a flow of affectionate gallantry, 
the most assiduous, the most delicate, the most in- 
sinuating, yet at the same time the most respectful, 
with which a Queen was ever addressed by a sub- 
ject. Elizabeth listened, as in a sort of enchant- 
ment ; her jealousy of power was lulled asleep ; 
her resolution to forsake all social or domestic ties, 
and dedicate herself exclusively to the care of her 
people, began to be shaken, and once more the 
star of Dudley culminated in the court-horizon. 

But Leicester did not enjoy this triumph over 
nature, and over conscience, without its being em- 
bittered to him, not only by the internal rebellion of 
his feelings against the violence which he exercised 
over them, but by many accidental circumstances, 
which, in the course of the banquet, and during the 
subsequent amusements of the evening, jarred upon 
that nerve, the least vibration of which was agony. 


KENILWORTH. 


278 

The courtiers were, for example, in the great 
hall, after having left the banqueting-room, await- 
ing the appearance of a splendid masque, which 
was the expected entertainment of this evening, 
when the Queen interrupted a wild career of wit, 
which the Earl of Leicester was running against 
Lord Willoughby, Raleigh, and some other cour- 
tiers, by saying — “We wil> impeach you of high 
treason, my lord, if you proceed in this attempt 
to slay us with laughter. And here comes a thing 
may make us all grave at his pleasure, our learned 
physician Masters, with news belike of our poor 
suppliant, Lady Varney — nay, my lord, we will 
not have you leave us, for this being a dispute be- 
twixt married persons, we do not hold our own 
experience deep enough to decide thereon, without 
good counsel. — How now, Masters, what think’st 
thou of the runaway bride ? ” 

The smile with which Leicester had been speak- 
ing, when the Queen interrupted him, remained 
arrested on his lips, as if it had been carved there 
by the chisel of Michael Angelo, or of Chan trey ; 
and he listened to the speech of the physician with 
the same immovable cast of countenance. 

“ The Lady Varney, gracious Sovereign,” said the 
court physician Masters, “ is sullen, and would hold 
little conference with me touching the state of her 
health, talking wildly of being soon to plead her 
own cause before your own presence, and of answer- 
ing no meaner person’s enquiries.” 

“Now the heavens f ore fend ! ” said the Queen; 
“ we have already suffered from the misconstruc- 
tions and broils which seem to follow this poor 
brain-sick lady wherever she comes. — Think you 
not so, my lord ? ” she added, appealing to Leicester, 


KENILWORTH. 


279 

with something in her look that indicated regret 
even tenderly expressed, for their disagreement of 
that morning. Leicester compelled himself to 
bow low. The utmost force he could exert was 
inadequate to the farther effort of expressing in 
words his acquiescence in the Queen’s sentiment. 

“ You are vindictive,” she said, “ my lord ; but 
we will find time and place to punish you. But 
once more to this same trouble-mirth, this Lady 
Varney — What of her health, Masters ? ” 

“ She is sullen, madam, as I already said,” replied 
Masters, “ and refuses to answer interrogatories, or 
be amenable to the authority of the mediciner. I 
conceive her to be possessed with a delirium, which 
I incline to term rather hypochondria than phrene- 
sis ; and I think she were best cared for by her 
husband in his own house, and removed from all* 
this bustle of pageants, which disturbs her weak 
brain with the most fantastic phantoms. She 
drops hints as if she were some great person in 
disguise — some Countess or Princess perchance. 
God help them, such are often the hallucinations 
of these infirm persons ! ” 

“ Nay, then,” said the Queen, “ away with her 
with all speed. Let Varney care for her with fit- 
ting humanity ; but let them rid the Castle of her 
forthwith. She will think herself lady of all, I 
warrant you. It is pity so fair a form, however, 
should have an infirm understanding. — What think 
you, my lord ? ” 

“ It is pity indeed,” said the Earl, repeating the 
words like a task which was set him. 

“ But, perhaps ” said Elizabeth, “ you do not join 
with us in our opinion of her beauty ; and indeed 
we have known men prefer a statelier and more 


2$0 


KENILWORTH. 


Juno- like form, to that drooping fragile one, that 
hung its head like a broken lily. Ay, men are ty- 
rants, my lord, who esteem the animation of the 
strife above the triumph of an unresisting con- 
quest, and, like sturdy champions, love best those 
women who can wage contest with them. — I could 
think with you, Rutland, that, give my Lord of Lei- 
cester such a piece of painted wax for a bride, he 
would have wished her dead ere the end of the 
honey-moon.” 

As she said this, she looked on Leicester so ex- 
pressively, that, while his heart revolted against 
the egregious falsehood, he did himself so much 
violence as to reply in a whisper, that Leicester’s 
love was more lowly than her Majesty deemed, 
since it was settled where he could never com- 
mand, hut must ever obey. 

The Queen blushed, and bid him be silent; yet 
looked as if she expected that he would not obey 
her commands. But at that moment the flourish 
of trumpets and kettle-drums from a high balcony 
which overlooked the hall, announced the entrance of 
the masquers, and relieved Leicester from the horrible 
state of constraint and dissimulation in which the 
result of his own duplicity had placed him. 

The masque which entered consisted of four sep- 
arate bands, which followed each other at brief 
intervals, each consisting of six principal persons 
and as many torch-bearers, and each representing 
one of the various nations by which England had 
at different times been occupied. 

The aboriginal Britons, who first entered, were 
ushered in by two ancient Druids, whose hoary 
hair was crowned with a chaplet of oak, and who 
bore in their hands branches of mistletoe. The 


KENILWORTH. 


281 


masquers who followed these venerable figures 
were succeeded by two Bards, arrayed in white, 
and hearing harps, which they occasionally touched, 
singing at the same time certain stanzas of an an- 
cient hymn to Belus, or the Sun. The aboriginal 
Britons had been selected from amongst the tallest 
and most robust young gentlemen in attendance on 
the court. Their masks were accommodated with 
long shaggy beards and hair ; their vestments were 
of the hides of wolves and bears ; while their legs, 
arms, and the upper parts of their bodies, being 
sheathed in flesh-coloured silk, on which were 
traced in grotesque lines representations of the 
heavenly bodies, and of animals and other terres- 
trial objects, gave them the lively appearance of 
our painted ancestors, whose freedom was first 
trenched upon by the Romans. 

The sons of Rome, who came to civilize as well as 
to conquer, were next produced before the princely 
assembly ; and the manager of the revels had cor- 
rectly imitated the high crest and military habits 
of that celebrated people, accommodating them with 
the light yet strong buckler, and the short two-ed'ged 
sword, the use of which had made them victors of 
the world. The Roman eagles were borne before 
them by two standard-bearers, who recited a hymn 
to Mars, and the classical warriors followed with 
the grave and haughty step of men who aspired at 
universal conquest. 

The third quadrille represented the Saxons, clad 
in the bearskins which they had brought with them 
from the German forests, and bearing in their hands 
the redoubtable battle-axes which made such havoc 
among the natives of Britain. They were preceded 
by two Scalds, who chanted the praises of Odin. 


282 


KENILWORTH. 


Last came the knightly Normans, in their mail- 
shirts and hoods of steel, with all the panoply of 
chivalry, and marshalled by two Minstrels, who sung 
of war and ladies’ love. 

These four bands entered the spacious hall with 
the utmost order, a short pause being made, that 
the spectators might satisfy their curiosity as to 
each quadrille before the appearance of the next. 
They then marched completely round the hall, in 
order the more fully to display themselves, regulat- 
ing their steps to organs, shalms, hautboys, and 
virginals, the music of the Lord Leicester’s house- 
hold. At length the four quadrilles of masquers, 
ranging their torch-bearers behind them, drew up 
in their several ranks, on the two opposite sides of 
the hall, so that the Eomans confronting the Britons, 
and the Saxons the Normans, seemed to look on 
each other with eyes of wonder, which presently 
appeared to kindle into anger, expressed by mena- * 
cing gestures. At the burst of a strain of martial 
music from the gallery, the masquers drew their 
swords on all sides, and advanced against each 
other in the measured steps of a sort of Pyrrhic 
or military dance, clashing their swords against 
their adversaries’ shields, and clattering them 
against their blades as they passed each other in 
the progress of the dance. It was a very pleasant 
spectacle to see how the various bands, preserving 
regularity amid motions which seemed to be totally 
irregular, mixed together, and then disengaging 
themselves, resumed each their own original rank 
as the music varied. 

In this symbolical dance were represented the 
conflicts which had taken place among the various 
nations which had anciently inhabited Britain. 


KENILWORTH. 


283 


At length, after many mazy evolutions, which 
afforded great pleasure to the spectators, the sound 
of a loud-voiced trumpet was heard, as if it blew for 
instant battle, or for victory won. The masquers 
instantly ceased their mimic strife, and collecting 
themselves under their original leaders, or pre- 
senters, for such was the appropriate phrase, seemed 
to share the anxious expectation which the spec- 
tators experienced concerning what was next to 
appear. 

The doors of the hall were thrown wide, and no 
less a person entered than the fiend-born Merlin, 
dressed in a strange and mystical attire, suited to 
his ambiguous birth and magical power. About 
him and behind him fluttered or gambolled many 
extraordinary forms, intended to represent the spirits 
who waited to do his powerful bidding ; and so much 
did this part of the pageant interest the menials 
and others of the lower class then in the Castle, that 
many of them forgot even the reverence due to the 
Queen’s presence, so far as to thrust themselves into 
the lower part of the hall. 

The Earl of Leicester, seeing his officers had some 
difficulty to repel these intruders, without more dis- 
turbance than was fitting where the Queen was in 
presence, arose and went himself to the bottom of 
the hall ; Elizabeth, at the same time, with her usual 
feeling for the common people, requesting that they 
might be permitted to remain undisturbed to witness 
the pageant. Leicester went under this pretext ; but 
his real motive was to gain a moment to himself, and 
to relieve his mind, were it but for one instant, from 
the dreadful task of hiding, under the guise of gaiety 
and gallantry, the lacerating pangs of shame, anger, 
remorse, and thirst for vengeance. He imposed silence 


284 


KENILWORTH. 


by his look and sign upon the vulgar crowd, at the 
lower end of the apartment ; but, instead of instantly 
returning to wait on her Majesty, he wrapped his cloak 
around him, and mixing with the crowd, stood in some 
degree an undistinguished spectator of the progress 
of the masque. 

Merlin having entered, and advanced into the 
midst of the hall, summoned the presenters of the 
contending bands around him by a wave of his 
magical rod, and announced to them, in a poetical 
speech, that the isle of Britain was now commanded 
by a Boyal Maiden, to whom it was the will of fate 
that they should all do homage, and request of her 
to pronounce on the various pretensions which each 
set forth to be esteemed the pre-eminent stock, from 
which the present natives, the happy subjects of that 
angelical Princess, derived their lineage. 

In obedience to this mandate, the bands, each 
moving to solemn music, passed in succession be- 
fore Elizabeth ; doing her, as they passed, each 
after the fashion of the people whom they repre- 
sented, the lowest and most devotional homage, 
which she returned with the same gracious courtesy 
that had marked her whole conduct since she came 
to Kenilworth. 

The presenters of the several masques, or quad- 
rilles, then alleged, each in behalf of his own troop, 
the reasons which they had for claiming pre-emi- 
nence over the rest ; and when they had been all 
heard in turn, she returned them this gracious an- 
swer : “ That she was sorry she was not better 

qualified to decide upon the doubtful question which 
had been propounded to her by the direction of the 
famous Merlin, but that it seemed to her that no 
single one of these celebrated nations could claim 


Kenilworth. 


285 

pre-eminence over the others, as having most con- 
tributed to form the Englishman of her own time, 
who unquestionably derived from each of them some 
worthy attribute of his character. Thus,” she said, 
“ the Englishman had from the ancient Briton his 
bold and tameless spirit of freedom, — from the Ro- 
man his disciplined courage in war, with his love of 
letters and civilisation in time of peace, — from the 
Saxon his wise and equitable laws, — and from the 
chivalrous Norman his love of honour and courtesy, 
with his generous desire for glory.” 

Merlin answered with readiness, that it did indeed 
require that so many choice qualities should meet 
in the English, as might render them in some mea- 
sure the muster of the perfections of other nations, 
since that alone could render them in some degree 
deserving of the blessings they enjoyed under the 
reign of England’s Elizabeth. 

The music then sounded, and the quadrilles, 
together with Merlin and his assistants, had begun 
to remove from the crowded hall, when Leicester, 
who was, as we have mentioned, stationed for the 
moment near the bottom of the hall, and conse- 
quently engaged in some degree in the crowd, felt 
himself pulled by the cloak, while a voice whispered 
in his ear, “ My Lord, I do desire some instant con- 
ference with you.” 


tt-- 


r - » 


■VSt I.S& It 


CHAPTER XXL 


How is’t with me, when every noise appals me 1 

Macbeth. 

“ I desire some conference with you.” The words 
were simple in themselves, but Lord Leicester was 
in that alarmed and feverish state of mind, when 
the niost ordinary occurrences seem fraught with 
alarming import ; and he turned hastily round to 
survey the person by whom they had been spoken. 
There was nothing remarkable in the speaker’s 
appearance, which consisted of a black silk doublet 
and short mantle, with a black vizard on his face ; 
for it appeared he had been among the crowd of 
masks who had thronged into the hall in the retinue 
of Merlin, though he did not wear any of the ex- 
travagant disguises by which most of them were 
distinguished. 

“Who are you, or what do you want with me ? ” 
said Leicester, not without betraying, by his accents, 
the hurried state of his spirits. 

“ No evil, my lord,” answered the mask, “‘but 
much good and honour, if you will rightly under- 
stand my purpose. But I must speak with you 
more privately.” 

“ I can speak with no nameless stranger,” an- 
swered Leicester, dreading he knew not precisely 
what from the request of the stranger ; “ arid those 
who are known to me, must seek another and a 
fitter time to ask an interview.” 


KENILWORTH. 287 

He would have hurried away, but the mask still 
detained him. 

“ Those who talk to your lordship of what your 
own honour demands, have a right over your time, 
whatever occupations you may lay aside in order 
to indulge them.” 

“ How ! my honour ? Who dare impeach it ? ” 
said Leicester. 

“ Your own conduct alone can furnish grounds 
for accusing it, my lord, and it is that topic on which 
I would speak with you.” 

“You are insolent,” said Leicester, “and abuse 
the hospitable license of the time, which prevents me 
from having you punished. I demand your name ? ” 

“Edmund Tressilian of Cornwall,” answered the 
mask. “ My tongue has been bound by a promise 
for four-and-twenty hours, — the space is passed, — 

I now speak, and do your lordship the justice to 
address myself first to you.” 

The thrill of astonishment which had penetrated 
to Leicester’s very heart at hearing that name pro- 
nounced by the voice of the man he most detested, 
and by whom he conceived himself so deeply in- 
jured, at first rendered him immovable, but instantly 
gave way to such a thirst for revenge as the pilgrim 
in the desert feels for the water-brooks. He had 
but sense and self-government enough left to pre- 
vent his stabbing to the heart the audacious villain, 
who, after the ruin he had brought upon him, dared, 
with such unmoved assurance, thus to practise upon 
him farther. Determined to suppress for the 
moment every symptom of agitation, in order to 
perceive the full scope of Tressilian’s purpose, as 
well as to secure his own vengeance, he answered 
in a tone so altered by restrained passion as scarce • 


KENILWORTH. 


2&8 

to be intelligible, — “ And what does Master Ed- 
mund Tressilian require at my hand ? ” 

“Justice, my lord,” answered Tressilian, calmly 
but firmly. 

“ Justice,” said Leicester, “ all men are entitled 
to — You, Master Tressilian, are peculiarly so, and 
be assured you shall have it.” 

“I expect nothing less from your nobleness,” 
answered Tressilian ; “ but time presses, and I 
must speak with you to-night — May I wait on you 
in your chamber ? ” 

“ No,” answered Leicester, sternly, “ not under a 
roof, and that roof mine own — We will meet un- 
der the free cope of heaven.” 

“ You are discomposed or displeased, my lord,” 
replied Tressilian ; “ yet there is no occasion for 
distemperature. The place is equal to me, so you 
allow me one half hour of your time uninterrupted.” 

“ A shorter time will, I trust, suffice,” answered 
Leicester — “ Meet me in the Pleasance, when the 
Queen has retired to her chamber.” 

“ Enough,” said Tressilian, and withdrew; while 
a sort of rapture seemed for the moment to occupy 
the mind of Leicester. ' 

“ Heaven,” he said, “ is at last favourable to me, 
and has put within my reach the wretch who has 
branded me with this deep ignominy — who has in- 
flicted on me this cruel agony. I will blame fate no 
more, since I am afforded the means of tracing the 
wiles by which he means still farther to practise on 
me, and then of at once convicting and punishing 
his villainy. To my task — to my task ! — I will 
not sink under it now, since midnight, at farthest, 
will bring me vengeance.” 

While these reflections thronged through Lei- 


KENILWORTH. 


289 

cester’s mind, he again made his way amid the ob- 
sequious crowd, which divided to give him passage, 
and resumed his place, envied and admired, beside 
the person of his Sovereign. But, could the bosom 
of him thus admired and envied, have been laid open 
before the inhabitants of that crowded hall, with all 
its dark thoughts of guilty ambition, blighted affec- 
tion, deep vengeance, and conscious sense of medi- 
tated cruelty, crossing each other like spectres in 
the circle of some foul enchantress, — which of them, 
from the most ambitious noble in the courtly circle, 
down to the most wretched menial, . who lived by 
shifting of trenchers, would have desired to change 
characters with the favourite of Elizabeth, and the 
Lord of Kenilworth ! 

New tortures awaited him as soon as he had 
rejoined Elizabeth. 

“ You come in time, my lord,” she said, “ to 
decide a dispute between us ladies. Here has Sir 
Richard Varney asked our permission to depart 
from the Castle with his infirm lady, having, as he 
tells us, your lordship’s consent to his absence, so 
he can obtain ours. Certes, we have no will to with- 
hold him from the affectionate charge of this poor 
young person — but you are to know, that Sir Rich- 
ard Varney hath this day showm himself so much 
captivated with these ladies of ours, that here is 
our Duchess of Rutland says, he will carry his poor 
insane wife no farther than the lake, plunge her 
in, to tenant the crystal palaces that the enchanted 
nymph told us of, and return a jolly widower, to 
dry his tears, and to make up the loss among our 
train. How say you, my lord? — We have seen 
Varney under two or three different guises — you 
know what are his proper attributes — think you 


290 KENILWORTH. 

he is capable of playing his lady such a knave's 
trick ? ” 

Leicester was confounded, but the danger was 
urgent, and a reply absolutely necessary. “The 
ladies,” he said, “ think too lightly of one of their 
own sex, in supposing she could deserve such a 
fate, or too ill of ours, to think it could be inflicted 
upon an innocent female.” 

“ Hear him, my ladies,” said Elizabeth ; “ like 
all his sex, he would excuse their cruelty by 
imputing fickleness to us.” 

“ Say not us, madam,” replied the Earl ; “ we 
say that meaner women, like the lesser lights x)f 
heaven, have revolutions and phases, but who shall 
impute mutability to the sun, or to Elizabeth ? ” 

The discourse presently afterwards assumed a less 
perilous tendency, and Leicester continued to sup- 
port his part in it with spirit, at whatever expense 
of mental agony. So pleasing did it seem to Eliz- 
abeth, that the Castle bell had sounded midnight 
ere she retired from the company, a circumstance 
unusual in her quiet and regular habits of disposing 
of time. Her departure was of course the signal 
for breaking up the company, who dispersed to their 
several places of repose, to dream over the pastimes 
of the day, or to anticipate those of the morrow. 

The unfortunate Lord of the Castle, and founder 
of the proud festival, retired to far different thoughts. 
His direction to the valet who attended him, was 
to send Varney instantly to his apartment. The 
messenger returned after some delay, and informed 
him that an hour had elapsed since Sir Richard 
Varney had left the Castle, by the postern-gate, 
with three other persons, one of whom was trans- 
ported in a horse-litter. 


KENILWORTH. 


* How came he to leave the Castle after the watch 
was set ? ” said Leicester ; “ I thought he went not 
till daybreak.” 

“ He gave satisfactory reasons, as I understand,” 
said the domestic, “ to the guard, and, as I hear, 
showed your lordship’s signet ” 

“ True — true,” said the Earl ; “ yet he has been 
hasty — Do any of his attendants remain behind ? ” 

“Michael Lambourne, my lord,” said the valet, 
“was not to be found when Sir Richard Varney 
departed, and his master was much incensed at his 
absence. I saw him but now saddling his horse to 
gallop after his master.” 

“ Bid him come hither instantly,” said Leicester ; 
“ I have a message to his master.” 

The servant left the apartment, and Leicester 
traversed it for some time in deep meditation — 
“Varney is over zealous,” he said, “over pressing — 
He loves me, I think — but he hath his own ends 
to serve, and he is inexorable in pursuit of them. 
If I rise he rises, and he hath shown himself already 
but too eager to rid me of this obstacle which seems 
to stand betwixt me and sovereignty. Yet I will 
not stoop to bear this disgrace. She shall be pun- 
ished, but it shall be more advisedly. I already feel, 
even in anticipation, that over-haste would light the 
flames of hell in my bosom. No — one victim is 
enough at once, and that victim already waits me.” 

He seized upon writing materials, and hastily 
traced these words : — 

“ Sir Richard Varney, we have resolved to defer the 
matter intrusted to your care, and strictly command 
( you to proceed no farther in relation to our Countess, 
until our further order. We also command your instant 


292 


KENILWORTH. 


return to Kenilworth, as soon as you have safely be- 
stowed that with which you are intrusted. But if the 
safe-placing of your present charge shall detain you 
longer than we think for, we command you, in that case, 
to send back our signet-ring by a trusty and speedy 
messenger, we having present need of the same. And 
requiring your strict obedience in these things, and 
commending you to God’s keeping, we rest your 
assured good friend and master, 

“R. Leicester. 

u Given at our Castle of Kenilworth, the tenth 
of July, in the year of Salvation one thousand five 
hundred and seventy-five.” 

As Leicester had finished and sealed this mandate, 
Michael Lambourne, booted up to mid thigh, having 
his riding-cloak girthed around him with a broad 
belt, and a felt-cap on his head, like that of a courier, 
entered his apartment, ushered in by the valet. 

“ What is thy capacity of service ? ” said the Earl. 

“ Equerry to your lordship’s master of the horse,” 
answered Lambourne, with his customary assurance. 

“ Tie up thy saucy tongue, sir,” said Leicester ; 
“the jests that may suit Sir Richard Varney’s pres- 
ence, suit not mine. How soon wilt thou overtake 
thy master?” 

“ In one hour’s riding, my lord, if man and horse 
hold good,” said Lambourne, with an instant altera- 
tion of demeanour, from an approach to familiarity 
to the deepest respect. The Earl measured him 
with his eye from top to toe. 

“ I have heard of thee,” he said ; “ men say thou 
art a prompt fellow in thy service, but too much 
given to brawling and to wassail to be trusted with 
things of moment.” 


KENILWORTH. 


293 


" My lord, ’ said Lambourne, “ I have been soldier, 
sailor, traveller; and adventurer ; and these are all 
trades in which men enjoy to-day, because they 
have no surety of to-morrow. But though I may 
misuse mine own leisure, I have never neglected 
the duty I owe my master.” 

“ See that it be so in this instance,” said Leices- 
ter, “ and it shall do thee good. Deliver this letter 
speedily and carefully into Sir Richard Varney’s 
hands.” 

“ Does my commission reach no farther ? ” said 
Lambourne. 

“ No,” answered Leicester, “ but it deeply concerns 
me that it be carefully as well as hastily executed.” 

“I will spare neither care nor horse-flesh,” an- 
swered Lambourne, and immediately took his leave. 

“ So, this is the end of my private audience, from 
which I hoped so much ! ” he muttered to himself, 
as he went through the long gallery, and down the 
back staircase. “ Cogsbones ! I thought the Earl 
had wanted a cast of mine office in some secret in- 
trigue, and it all ends in carrying a letter ! Well, his 
pleasure shall be done, however, and as his lordship 
well says, it may do me good another time. The child 
must creep ere he walk, and so must your infant 
courtier. I will have a look into this letter, how- 
ever, which he hath sealed so sloven-like.” — Having 
accomplished this, he clapped his hands together 
in ecstasy, exclaiming, “ The Countess — the Coun- 
tess ! — I have the secret that shall make or mar 
me. — But come forth, Bayard,” he added, leading 
his horse into the court-yard, “ for your flanks and 
my spurs must be presently acquainted.” 

Lambourne mounted, accordingly, and left the 
Castle by the postern-gate, where his free passage 


294 


KENILWORTH. 


was permitted, in consequence of a message to that 
effect left by Sir Richard Varney. 

As soon as Lambourne and the valet had left the 
apartment, Leicester proceeded to change his dress 
for a very plain one, threw his mantle around him, 
and, taking a lamp in his hand, went by the private 
passage of communication to a small secret postern- 
door which opened into the court-yard, near to the 
entrance of the Pleasance. His reflections were of 
a more calm and determined character than they 
had been at any late period, and he endeavoured to 
claim, even in his own eyes, the character of a man 
more sinned against than sinning. 

“ I have suffered the deepest injury,” such was 
the tenor of his meditations, “ yet I have restricted 
the instant revenge which was in my power, and 
have limited it to that which is manly and noble. 
But shall the union which this false woman has this 
day disgraced, remain an abiding fetter on me, to 
check me in the noble career to which my destinies 
invite me ? No — there are other means of disen- 
gaging such ties, without unloosing the cords of life. 
In the sight of God, I am no longer bound by the 
union she has broken. Kingdoms shall divide us — 
oceans roll betwixt us, and their waves, whose 
abysses have swallowed whole navies, shall be the 
sole depositaries of the deadly mystery.” 

By such a train of argument did Leicester labour 
to reconcile his conscience to the prosecution of plans 
of vengeance, so hastily adopted, and of schemes of 
ambition, which had become so woven in with every 
purpose and action of his life, that he was incapable 
of the effort of relinquishing them ; until his revenge 
appeared to him to wear a face of justice, and even 
of generous moderation. 


KENILWORTH. 


295 


In this mood, the vindictive and ambitious Earl 
entered the superb precincts of the Pleasance, then 
illumined by the full moon. The broad yellow light 
was reflected on all sides from the white freestone, 
of which the pavement, balustrades, and architectu- 
ral ornaments of the place, were constructed ; and not 
a single fleecy cloud was visible in the azure sky, so 
that the scene was nearly as light as if the sun had 
but just left the horizon. The numerous statues of 
white marble glimmered in the pale light, like so 
many sheeted ghosts just arisen from their sepul- 
chres', and the fountains threw their jets into the air, 
as if they sought that their waters should be bright- 
ened by the moonbeams, ere they fell down again 
upon their basins in showers of sparkling silver. 
The day had been sultry, and the gentle night-breeze, 
which sighed along the terrace of the Pleasance, 
raised not a deeper breath than the fan in the 
hand of youthful beauty. The bird of summer 
night had built many a nest in the bowers of 
the adjacent garden, and the tenants now indem- 
nified themselves for silence during the day, by a 
full chorus of their own unrivalled waihlings, now 
joyous, now pathetic, now united, now responsive 
to each other, as if to express their delight in the 
placid and delicious scene to which they poured 
their melody. 

Musing on matters far different from the fall of 
waters, the gleam of moonlight, or the song of the 
nightingale, the stately Leicester walked slowly 
from the one end of the terrace to the other, his 
cloak wrapped around him, and his sword under 
his arm, without seeing any thing resembling the 
human form. 

“ I have been fooled by my own generosity,” he 


296 


KENILWORTH. 


said, “ if I have suffered the villain to escape me — 
ay, and perhaps to go to the rescue of the Adulteress, 
who is so poorly guarded.” 

These were his thoughts, which were instantly 
dispelled, when, turning to look back towards the 
entrance, he saw a human form advancing slowly 
from the portico, and darkening the various objects 
with its shadow, as passing them successively, in its 
approach towards him. 

“ Shall I strike ere I again hear his detested 
voice ? ” was Leicester’s thought, as he grasped the 
hilt of the sword. “ But no ! I will see which way 
his vile practice tends. I will watch, disgusting as 
it is, the coils and mazes of the loathsome snake, ere 
I put forth my strength and crush him.” 

His hand quitted the sword-hilt, and he advanced 
slowly towards Tressilian, collecting, for their meet- 
ing, all the self-possession he could command, until 
they came front to front with each other. 

Tressilian made a profound reverence, to which 
the Earl replied with a haughty inclination of the 
head, and the words, “ You sought secret conference 
with me, si! — I am here, and attentive.” 

“ My lord,” said Tressilian, “ I am so earnest in 
that which I have to say, and so desirous to find a 
patient, nay a favourable, hearing, that I will stoop 
to exculpate myself from whatever might prejudice 
your lordship against me. You think me your 
enemy ? ” 

“ Have I not some apparent cause ? ” answered 
Leicester, perceiving that Tressilian paused for a 
reply. 

“ You do me wrong, my lord. I am a friend, 
but neither a dependent nor partisan, of the Earl of 
Sussex, whom courtiers call your rival ; and it is 


KENILWORTH. 


297 


some considerable time since I ceased to regard 
either courts, or court-intrigues, as suited to my 
temper or genius.” 

“ No doubt, sir,” answered Leicester ; “ there are 
other occupations more worthy a scholar, and for 
such the world holds Master Tressilian — Love has 
his intrigues as well as ambition.” 

“I perceive, my lord,” replied Tressilian, “you 
give much weight to my early attachment for the 
unfortunate young person of whom I am about to 
speak, and perhaps think I am prosecuting her cause 
out of rivalry, more than a sense of justice.” 

“No matter for my thoughts, sir,” said the Earl; 
“ proceed. You have as yet spoken of yourself only ; 
an important and worthy subject doubtless, but 
which, perhaps, does not altogether so deeply con- 
cern me, that I should postpone my repose to hear 
it. Spare me farther prelude, sir, and speak to the 
purpose, if indeed you have aught to say that con- 
cerns me. When you have done, I, in my turn, 
have something to communicate.” 

“ I will speak, then, without farther prelude, my 
lord,” answered Tressilian; “having to say that 
which, as it concerns your lordship’s honour, I am 
confident you will not think your time wasted in 
listening to. I have to request an account from 
your lordship of the unhappy Amy Robsart, whose 
history is too well known to you. I regret deeply 
that I did not at once take this course, and make 
yourself judge between me and the villain by whom 
she is injured. My lord, she extricated herself from 
an unlawful and most perilous state of confinement, 
trusting to the effects of her own remonstrance upon 
her unworthy husband, and extorted from me a 
promise, that I would not interfere in her behalf 


29 $ 


KENILWORTH. 


until she had used her own efforts to have hei 
rights acknowledged by him.” 

“ Ha ! ” said Leicester, “ remember you to whom 
you speak ? ” 

“ I speak of her unworthy husband, my lord,” 
repeated Tressilian, “and my respect can find no 
softer language. The unhappy young woman is 
withdrawn from my knowledge, and sequestered 
in some secret place of this Castle, — if she be not 
transferred to some place of seclusion better fitted 
for bad designs. This must be reformed, my lord, 
— I speak it as authorized by her father, — and this 
ill-fated marriage must be avouched and proved in 
the Queen’s presence, and the lady placed without 
restraint, and at her own free disposal. And, per- 
mit me to say, it concerns no one’s honour that 
these most just demands of mine should be complied 
with, so much as it does that of your lordship.” 

The Earl stood as if he had been petrified, at the 
extreme coldness with which the man, whom he con- 
sidered as having injured him so deeply, pleaded 
the cause of his criminal paramour, as if she had been 
an innocent woman, and he a disinterested advo- 
cate ; nor was his wonder lessened by the warmth 
with which Tressilian seemed to demand for her the 
rank and situation which she had disgraced, and the 
advantages of which she was doubtless to share 
with the lover who advocated her cause with such 
effrontery. Tressilian had been silent for more than 
a minute ere the Earl recovered from the excess of 
his astonishment; and, considering the preposses- 
sions with which his mind was occupied, there is 
little wonder that his passion gained the mastery of 
every other consideration. “ I have heard you, Mas- 
ter Tressilian,” said he, “without interruption, and 


KENILWORTH. 


*99 


I bless God that my ears were never before made 
to tingle by the words of so frontless a villain. The 
task of chastising you is fitter for the hangman’s 

scourge than the sword of a nobleman, but yet 

Villain, draw and defend thyself ! ” 

As he spoke the last words, he dropped his 
mantle on the ground, struck Tressilian smartly with 
his sheathed sword, and instantly drawing his rapier, 
put himself into a posture of assault. The vehe- 
ment fury of his language at first filled Tressilian, 
in his turn, with surprise equal to what Leicester 
had felt when he addressed him. But astonishment 
gave rise to resentment, when the unmerited insults 
of his language were followed by a blow, which im- 
mediately put to flight every thought save that of 
instant combat. Tressilian’s sword . was instantly 
drawn, and though perhaps somewhat inferior to 
Leicester in the use of the weapon, he understood 
it well enough to maintain the contest with great 
spirit, the rather that of the two he was for the time 
the more cool, since he could not help imputing 
Leicester’s conduct either to actual frenzy, or to 
the influence of some strong delusion. 

The rencontre had continued for several minutes, 
without either party receiving a wound, when of a 
sudden voices were heard beneath the portico, which 
formed the entrance of the terrace, mingled with the 
steps of men advancing hastily. “We are inter- 
rupted,” said Leicester to his antagonist ; “ follow 
me.” 

At the same time a voice from the portico said, 
“ The jackanape is right — they are tilting here.” 

Leicester, meanwhile, drew off Tressilian into a 
sort of recess behind one of the fountains, which 
served to conceal them, while six of the yeomen of 


300 


KENILWORTH. 


the Queen’s guard passed along the middle walk of 
the Pleasance, and they could hear one say to the 
rest, “ We shall never find them to-night amongst 
all these squirting funnels, squirrel-cages, and rabbit- 
holes ; but if we light hot on them before we reach 
the farther end, we will return, and mount a guard 
at the entrance, and so secure them till morning.” 

“ A proper matter,” said another, “ the drawing 
of swords so near the Queen’s presence, ay, and in 
her very palace as ’twere ! — Hang it, they must be 
some poor drunken game-cocks fallen to sparring — 
’twere pity almost we should find them — the 
penalty is chopping off a hand, is it not ? — ’twere 
hard to lose hand for handling a bit of steel, that 
comes so natural to one’s gripe.” 

“Thou art a brawler thyself, George,” said an- 
other ; “ but take heed, for the law stands as thou 
sayest.” 

“ Ay,” said the first, “ an the act be not mildly 
construed ; for thou know’st ’tis not the Queen’s 
Palace, but my Lord of Leicester’s.” 

“Why, for that matter, the penalty may be as 
severe,” said another ; “ for an our gracious Mis- 
tress be Queen, as she is, God save her, my Lord 
of Leicester is as good as King.” 

“Hush ! thou knave ! ” said a third ; “ how know’st 
thou who may be within hearing ? ” 

They passed on, making a kind of careless search, 
but seemingly more intent on their own conversa- 
tion than bent on discovering the persons who had 
created the nocturnal disturbance. 

They had no sooner passed forward along the 
terrace, than Leicester, making a sign to Tressilian 
to follow him, glided away in an opposite direction, 
and escaped through the portico undiscovered. He 


KENILWORTH. 


301 


conducted Tressilian to Mervyn’s Tower, in which 
he was now again lodged; and then, ere parting 
with him, said these words, “ If thou hast courage 
to continue and bring to an end what is thus broken 
off, be near me when the court goes forth to-mor- 
row — we shall find a time, and I will give you a 
signal when it is fitting.” 

“ My lord,” said Tressilian, “ at another time I 
might have enquired the meaning of this strange 
and furious inveteracy against me. But you have 
laid that on my shoulder, which only blood can wash 
away ; and were you as high as your proudest 
wishes ever carried you, I would have from you 
satisfaction for my wounded honour.” 

On these terms they parted, but the adventures 
of the night were not yet ended with Leicester. 
He was compelled to pass by Saintlowe’s Tower, 
in order to gain the private passage which led to 
his own chamber, and in the entrance thereof he 
met Lord Hunsdon half clothed, and with a naked 
sword under his arm. 

“Are you awakened, too, with this Tarum, my 
Lord of Leicester ? ” said the old soldier. “ ’Tis well 
— By gog’s-nails, the nights are as noisy as the 
day in this Castle of yours. Some two hours since, 
I was waked by the screams of that poor brain-sick 
Lady Varney, whom her husband was forcing away. 
I promise you, it required both your warrant and 
the Queen’s, to keep me from entering into the 
game, and cutting that Varney of yours over the 
head; and now there is a brawl down in the Plea- 
sance, or what call you the stone terrace-walk, 
where all yonder gimcracks stand ? ” 

The first part of the old man’s speech went 
through the Earl’s heart like a knife ; to the last he 


302 


KENILWORTH. 


answered that he himself had heard the clash of 
swords, and had come down to take order with those 
who had been so insolent so near the Queen’s 
presence. 

“ Nay, then,” said Hunsdon, “ I will he glad of 
your lordship’s company.” 

Leicester was thus compelled to turn back with 
the rough old lord to the Pleasance, where Hunsdon 
heard from the yeomen of the guard, who were 
under his immediate command, the unsuccessful 
search they had made for the authors of the disturb- 
ance ; and bestowed for their pains some round dozen 
of curses on them, as lazy knaves and blind whore- 
sons. Leicester also thought it necessary to seem 
angry that no discovery had been effected; but at 
length suggested to Lord Hunsdon, that after all it 
could only be some foolish young men, who had been 
drinking healths pottle-deep, and who would be suf- 
ficiently scared by the search which had taken place 
after them. Hunsdon, who was himself attached to 
his cup, allowed that a pint-flagon might cover 
many of the follies which it had caused. “ But,” 
he added, “ unless your lordship will be less liberal 
in your housekeeping, and restrain the overflow of 
ale, and wine, and wassail, I foresee it will end in 
my having some of these good fellows into the guard- 
house, and treating them to a dose of the strappado 
— And with this warning, good-night to yot.” 

Joyful at being rid of his company, Leicester 
took leave of him at the entrance of his lodging, 
where they had first met, and entering the private 
passage, took up the lamp which he had left there, 
and by its expiring light found the way to his own 
apartment. 


CHAPTER XXII. 


Room ! room ! for my horse will wince 

If he comes within so many yards of a prince; 

For to tell you true, and in rhyme, 

He was foal’d in Queen Elizabeth’s time; 

When the great Earl of Lester 
In his castle did feast her. 

Masque of Owls. — Ben Jonson. 


The amusement with which Elizabeth and hei 
court were next day to be regaled, was an exhibition 
by the true-hearted men of Coventry, who were to 
represent the strife between the English and the 
Danes, agreeably to a custom long preserved in 
their ancient borough, and warranted for truth by 
old histories and chronicles. In this pageant, one 
party of the townsfolk presented the Saxons, and 
the other the Danes, and set forth, both in rude 
rhymes and with hard blows, the contentions of 
these two fierce nations, and the Amazonian courage 
of the English women, who, according to the story, 
were the principal agents in the general massacre 
of the Danes, which took place at Hocktide, in the 
year of God 1012. This sport, which had been long 
a favourite pastime with the men of Coventry, had, 
it seems, been put down by the influence of some 
zealous clergyman, of the more precise cast, who 
chanced to have considerable influence with the ma- 
gistrates. But the generality of the inhabitants had 
petitioned the Queen that they might have their 
play again, and be honoured with permission to 


304 


KENILWORTH. 


represent it before her Highness. And when the 
matter was canvassed in the little council, which 
usually attended the Queen for dispatch of busi- 
ness, the proposal, although opposed by some, of the 
stricter sort, found favour in the eyes of Elizabeth, 
who said that such toys occupied, without offence, 
the minds of many, who, lacking them, might find 
worse subjects of pastime ; and that their pastors, 
however commendable for learning and godliness, 
were somewhat too sour in preaching against the 
pastimes of their flocks, and so the pageant was 
permitted to proceed. 

Accordingly, after a morning repast, which Mas- 
ter Laneham calls an ambrosial breakfast, the prin- 
cipal persons of the court, in attendance upon her 
Majesty, pressed to the Gallery-tower, to witness 
the approach of the two contending parties of Eng- 
lish and Danes ; and after a signal had been given, 
the gate which opened in the circuit of the Chase 
was thrown wide, to admit them. On they came, 
foot and horse ; for some of the more ambitious 
burghers and yeomen had put themselves into fantas- 
tic dresses, imitating knights, in order to resemble 
the chivalry of the two different nations. However, 
to prevent fatal accidents, they were not permitted 
to appear on real horses, but had only license to ac- 
coutre themselves with those hobbyhorses, as they 
are called, which anciently formed the chief delight 
of a morrice-dance, and which still are exhibited on 
the stage, in the grand battle fought at the conclu- 
sion of Mr. Bayes’s tragedy. The infantry followed 
in similar disguises. The whole exhibition was to 
be considered as a sort of anti-masque, or burlesque 
of the more stately pageants, in which the nobility 
and gentry bore part in the show, and, to the best 


KENILWORTH. 


305 

of their knowledge, imitated with accuracy the per- 
sonages whom they represented. The Hocktide play 
was of a different character, the actors being persons 
of inferior degree, and their habits the better fitted 
for the occasion, the more incongruous and ridicu- 
lous that they were in themselves. Accordingly 
their array, which the progress of our tale allows us 
no time to describe, was ludicrous enough, and their 
weapons, though sufficiently formidable to deal 
sound blows, were long alder-poles instead of lances, 
and sound cudgels for swords ; and for fence, both 
cavalry and infantry were well equipped with stout 
headpieces and targets, both made of thick leather. 

Captain Coxe, that celebrated humorist of Co- 
ventry, whose library of ballads, almanacks, and 
penny histories, fairly wrapped up in parchment, and 
tied round for security with a piece of whipcord, re- 
mains still the envy of antiquaries, being himself the 
ingenious person under whose direction the pageant 
had been set forth, rode valiantly on his hobbyhorse 
before the bands of English, high-trussed, saith 
Laneham, and brandishing his long sword, as be- 
came an experienced man of war, who had fought 
under the Queen’s father, bluff King Henry, at the 
siege of Boulogne. This chieftain was, as right and 
reason craved, the first to enter the lists, and, pass- 
ing the Gallery at the head of his myrmidons, kissed 
the hilt of his sword to the Queen, and executed 
at the same time a gambade, the like whereof had 
never been practised by two-legged hobbyhorse. 
Then passing on with all his followers of cavaliers 
and infantry, he drew them up with martial skill at 
the opposite extremity of the bridge, or tilt-yard, 
until his antagonists should be fairly prepared for 
the onset. 


3o 6 


KENILWORTH. 


This was no long interval ; for the Danish cav^ 
airy and infantry, no way inferior to the English 
in number, valour, and equipment, instantly arrived, 
with the northern bagpipe blowing before them in 
token of their country, and headed by a cunning 
master of defence, only inferior to the renowned 
Captain Coxe, if to him, in the discipline of war. 
The Danes, as* invaders, took their station under 
the Gallery-tower, and opposite to that of Morti- 
mer ; and, when their arrangements were com- 
pletely made, a signal was given for the encounter. 

Their first charge upon each other was rather 
moderate, for either party had some dread of being 
forced into the lake. But as reinforcements • came 
up on either side, the encounter grew from a skir- 
mish into a blazing battle. They rushed upon one 
another, as Master Laneham testifies, like rams in- 
flamed by jealousy, with such furious encounter, 
that both parties were often overthrown, and the 
clubs and targets made a most horrible clatter. In 
many instances, that happened which had been 
dreaded by the more experienced warriors, who be- 
gan the day of strife. The rails which defended the 
ledges of the bridge had been, perhaps on purpose, 
left but slightly fastened, and gave way under the 
pressure of those who thronged to the combat, stf 
that the hot courage of many of the combatants re- 
ceived a sufficient cooling. These incidents might 
have occasioned more serious damage than became 
such an affray, for many of the champions who met 
with this mischance could not swim, and those who 
could were encumbered with their suits of leathern 
and of paper armour ; but the case had been provided 
for, and there were several boats in readiness to pick 
up the unfortunate warriors, and convey them to 


KENILWORTH. 


307 

the dry land, where, dripping and dejected, they 
comforted themselves with the hot ale and strong 
waters which were liberally allowed to them, with- 
out showing any desire to re-enter so desperate a 
conflict. 

Captain Coxe alone, that paragon of Black-Let- 
ter Antiquaries, after twice experiencing, horse and 
man, the perilous leap from the bridge into the lake, 
equal to any extremity to which the favourite 
heroes of chivalry, whose exploits he studied in an 
abridged form, whether Amadis, Belianis, Bevis, or 
his own Guy of Warwick, had ever been subjected 
to — Captain Coxe, we repeat, did alone, after two 
such mischances, rush again into the heat of con- 
flict, his bases and the foot-cloth of his hobbyhorse 
dropping water, and twice reanimated by voice and 
example the drooping spirits of the English ; so that 
at length their victory over the Danish invaders be- 
came, as was just and reasonable, complete and de- 
cisive. Worthy he was to be rendered immortal 
by the pen of Ben Jonson, who, fifty years after- 
wards, deemed that a masque, exhibited at Kenil- 
worth, could be ushered in by none with so much 
propriety, as by the ghost of Captain Coxe, mounted 
upon his redoubted hobbyhorse. 

These rough rural gambols may not altogether 
agree with the reader’s preconceived idea of an en- 
tertainment presented before Elizabeth, in whose 
reign letters revived with such brilliancy, and whose 
court, governed by a female, whose sense of pro- 
priety was equal to her strength of mind, was no 
less distinguished for delicacy and refinement, than 
her councils for wisdom and fortitude. But whether 
from the political wish to seem interested in popu- 
lar sports, or whether from a spark of old Henry’s 


308 


KENILWORTH. 


rough masculine spirit, which Elizabeth sometimes 
displayed, it is certain the Queen laughed heartily 
at the imitation, or rather burlesque of chivalry, 
which was presented in the Coventry play. She 
called near her person the Earl of Sussex and Lord 
Hunsdon, partly perhaps to make amends to the 
former, for the long and private audiences with 
which she had indulged the Earl of Leicester, by en- 
gaging him in conversation upon a pastime, which 
better suited his taste than those pageants that were 
furnished forth from the stores of antiquity. The 
disposition which the Queen showed to laugh and 
jest with her military leaders, gave the Earl of 
Leicester the opportunity he had been watching for 
withdrawing from the royal presence, which to the 
court around, so well had he chosen his time, had 
the graceful appearance of leaving his rival free ac- 
cess to the Queen’s person, instead of availing him- 
self of his right as her landlord, to stand perpetually 
betwixt others, and the light of her countenance. 

Leicester’s thoughts, however, had a far different 
object from mere courtesy ; for no sooner did he see 
the Queen fairly engaged in conversation with Sussex 
and Hunsdon, behind whose back stood Sir Nicholas 
Blount, grinning from ear to ear at each word which 
was spoken, than, making a sign to Tressilian, who, 
according to appointment, watched his motions at a 
little distance, he extricated himself from the press, 
and walking towards the Chase, made his way 
through the crowds of ordinary spectators, who, 
with open mouth, stood gazing on the battle of the 
English and the Danes. When he had accomplished 
this, which was a work of some difficulty, he shot 
another glance behind him to see that Tressilian had 
been equally successful, and as soon as he saw him 


KENILWORTH. 


309 

also free from the crowd, he led the way to a small 
thicket, behind which stood a lackey, with two 
horses ready saddled. He flung himself on the one, 
and made signs to Tressilian to mount the other, 
who obeyed without speaking a single word. 

Leicester then spurred his horse, and galloped with- 
out stopping until he reached a sequestered spot, 
environed by lofty oaks, about a mile’s distance from 
the Castle, and in an opposite direction from the 
scene to which curiosity was drawing every specta- 
tor. He there dismounted, bound his horse to a 
tree, and only pronouncing the words, “ Here there 
is no risk of interruption,” laid his cloak across his 
saddle, and drew his sword. 

Tressilian imitated his example punctually, yet 
could not forbear saying, as he drew his weapon, 
“ My lord, as I have been known to many as one 
who does not fear death, when placed in balance 
with honour, methinks I may, without derogation, 
ask, wherefore, in the name of all that is honourable, 
your lordship has dared to offer me such a mark of 
disgrace, as places us on these terms with respect to 
each other ? ” 

“If you like not such marks of my scorn,” re- 
plied the Earl, “ betake yourself instantly to your 
weapon, lest I repeat the usage you complain of.” 

“ It shall not need, my lord,” said Tressilian. 
“ God judge betwixt us ! and your blood, if you fall, 
be on your own head.” 

He had scarce completed the sentence, when they 
instantly closed in combat. 

But Leicester, who was a perfect master of de- 
fence among all other exterior accomplishments of 
the time, had seen, on the preceding night, enough 
of Tressilian’s strength and skill, to make him fight 


KENILWORTH. 


310 . 

with more caution than heretofore, and prefer a se- 
cure revenge to a hasty one. For some minutes 
they fought with equal skill and fortune, till, in a 
desperate lounge which Leicester successfully put 
aside, Tressilian exposed himself at disadvantage ; 
and, in a subsequent attempt to close, the Earl 
forced his sword from his hand, and stretched him 
on the ground. With a grim smile he held the 
point of his rapier within two inches of the throat 
of his fallen adversary, and placing his foot at the 
same time upon his breast, bid him confess his 
villainous wrongs towards him, and prepare for 
death. 

“ I have no villainy nor wrong towards thee to 
confess,” answered Tressilian, “ and am better pre- 
pared for death than thou. Use thine advantage as 
thou wilt, and may God forgive you ! I have given 
you no cause for this.” 

“No cause ! ” exclaimed the Earl, “ no cause ! — 
but why parley with such a slave ? — Die a liar, as 
thou hast lived ! ” 

He had withdrawn his arm for the purpose of 
striking the fatal blow, when it was suddenly seized 
from behind. 

The Earl turned in wrath to shake off the unex- 
pected obstacle, but was surprised to find that a 
strange-looking boy had hold of his sword-arm, and 
clung to it with such tenacity of grasp, that he could 
not shake him off without a considerable struggle, 
in the course of which Tressilian had opportunity to 
rise and possess himself once more of his weapon. 
Leicester again turned towards him with looks of 
unabated ferocity, and the combat would have re- 
commenced with still more desperation on both 
sides, had not the boy clung to Lord Leicester’s 


KENILWORTH. 


311 

knees, and in a shrill tone implored him to listen 
one moment ere he prosecuted this quarrel. 

“ Stand up, and let me go,” said Leicester, “ or, by 
Heaven, I will pierce thee with my rapier ! - — What 
hast thou to do to bar my way to revenge ? ” 

“ Much — much ! ” exclaimed the undaunted boy ; 
“ since my folly has been the cause of these bloody 
quarrels between you, and perchance of worse evils. 
0, if you would ever again enjoy the peace of an 
innocent mind, if you hope again to sleep in peace 
and unhaunted by remorse, take so much leisure as 
to peruse this letter, and then do as you list.” 

While he spoke in this eager and earnest man- 
ner, to which his singular features and voice gave a 
goblin-like effect, he held up to Leicester a packet, 
secured with a long tress of woman’s hair, of a 
beautiful light-brown colour. Enraged as he was, 
nay, almost blinded with fury to see his destined 
revenge so strangely frustrated, the Earl of Leices- 
ter could not resist this extraordinary supplicant 
He snatched the letter from his hand — changed 
colour as he looked on the superscription — undid, 
with faltering hand, the knot which secured it — 
glanced over the contents, and, staggering back, 
would have fallen, had he not rested against the 
trunk of a tree, where he stood for an instant, his 
eyes bent on the letter, and his sword-point turned 
to the ground, without seeming to be conscious of 
the presence of an antagonist, towards whom he 
had shown little mercy, and who might in turn 
have taken him at advantage. But for such re- 
venge Tressilian was too noble-minded — he also 
stood still in surprise, waiting the issue of this 
strange fit of passion, but holding his weapon ready 
to defend himself in case of need, against some new 


KENILWORTH. 


and sudden attack on the part of Leicester, whom 
he again suspected to be under the influence of 
actual frenzy. The boy, indeed, he easily recog- 
nised as his old acquaintance Dickon, whose face, 
once seen, was scarcely to be forgotten; but how 
he came thither at so critical a moment, why his 
interference was so energetic, and, above all, how 
it came to produce so powerful an effect upon Lei- 
cester, were questions which he could not solve. 

But the letter was of itself powerful enough to 
work effects yet more wonderful. It was that 
which the unfortunate Amy had written to her 
husband, in which she alleged the reasons and 
manner of her flight from Cumnor-Place, informed 
him of her having made her way to Kenilworth 
to enjoy his protection, and mentioned the circum- 
stances which had compelled her to take refuge 
in Tressilian’s apartment, earnestly requesting he 
would, without delay, assign her a more suitable 
asylum. The letter concluded with the most earn- 
est expressions of devoted attachment, and sub- 
mission to his will in all things, and particularly 
respecting her situation and place of residence, con- 
juring him only that she might not be placed under 
the guardianship or restraint of Varney. 

The letter dropped from Leicester’s hand when 
he had perused it. “ Take my sword,” he said, 
“ Tressilian, and pierce my heart, as I would but 
now have pierced yours ! ” 

“ My lord,” said Tressilian, “ you have done me 
great wrong ; but something within my breast ever 
whispered that it was by egregious error.” 

“ Error, indeed ! ” said Leicester, and handed 
him the letter: “I have been made to believe a 
man of honour a villain, and the best and purest 


KENILWORTH. 


3i3 


of creatures a false profligate. — Wretched boy, why 
comes this letter now, and where has the bearer 
lingered ? ” 

“ I dare not tell you, my lord,” said the boy, with- 
drawing, as if to keep beyond his reach ; — “ but 
here comes one who was the messenger.” 

Way land at the same moment came up ; and, in- 
terrogated by Leicester, hastily detailed all the cir- 
cumstances of his escape with Amy, — the fatal 
practices which had driven her to flight, — and her 
anxious desire to throw herself under the instant 
protection of her husband, — pointing out the evi- 
dence of the domestics of Kenilworth, “ who could 
not,” he observed, “but remember her eager en- 
quiries after the Earl of Leicester on her first 
arrival.” 

“ The villains ! ” exclaimed Leicester ; “ but O, 
that worst of villains, Varney! — and she is even 
now in his power ! ” 

“ But not, I trust in God,” said Tressilian, “ with 
any commands of fatal import ? ” 

“ No, no, no ! ” exclaimed the Earl, hastily. — “I 
said something in madness — but it was recalled, 
fully recalled, by a hasty messenger; and she is 
now — she must now be safe.” 

“ Yes,” said Tressilian, “ she must be safe, and 
I must be assured of her safety. My own quarrel 
with you is ended, my lord ; but there is another 
to begin with the seducer of Amy Robsart, who has 
screened his guilt under the cloak of the infamous 
Varney.” 

“ The seducer of Amy ! ” replied Leicester, with a 
voice like thunder ; “ say her husband ! — her mis- 
guided, blinded, most unworthy husband ! — She is 
as surely Countess of Leicester as I am belted Earl. 


3 r 4 


KENILWORTH. 


Nor can you, sir, point out that manner of justice 
which I will not render her at my own free will. 
I need scarce say, I fear not your compulsion.” 

The generous nature of Tressilian was instantly 
turned from consideration of any thing personal to 
himself, and centred at once upon Amy’s welfare. 
He had by no means undoubting confidence in the 
fluctuating resolutions of Leicester, whose mind 
seemed to him agitated beyond the government of 
calm reason ; neither did he, notwithstanding the 
assurances he had received, think Amy safe in the 
hands of his dependents. “ My lord,” he said, 
calmly, “I mean you no offence, and am far from 
seeking a quarrel. But my duty to Sir Hugh Rob- 
sart compels me to carry this matter instantly to 
the Queen, that the Countess’s rank may be ac- 
knowledged in her person.” 

“ You shall not need, sir,” replied the Earl, 
haughtily ; “ do not dare to interfere. No voice 
but Dudley’s shall proclaim Dudley’s infamy — To 
Elizabeth herself will I tell it, and then for Cum- 
nor-Place with the speed of life and death ! ” 

So saying, he unbound his horse from the tree, 
threw himself into the saddle, and rode at full gal- 
lop towards the Castle. 

“ Take me before you, Master Tressilian,” said 
the boy, seeing Tressilian mount in the same haste 
— “my tale is not all told out, and I need your 
protection.” 

Tressilian complied, and followed the Earl, though 
at a less furious rate. By the way the boy confessed, 
with much contrition, that in resentment at Way- 
land’s evading all his enquiries concerning the lady, 
after Dickon conceived he had in various ways 
merited his confidence, he had purloined from him, 


KENILWORTH. 


315 


in revenge, the letter with which Amy had in- 
trusted him for the Earl of Leicester. His purpose 
was to have restored it to him that evening, as he 
reckoned himself sure of meeting with him, in con- 
sequence of Wayland’s having to perform the part 
of Arion, in the pageant. He was indeed something 
alarmed when he saw to whom the letter was ad- 
dressed ; but he argued that, as Leicester did not 
return to Kenilworth until that evening, it would 
be again in the possession of the proper messenger, 
as soon as, in the nature of things, it could possibly 
be delivered. But Wayland came not to the pa- 
geant, having been in the interim expelled by Lam- 
bourne from the Castle, and the boy, not being able 
to find him, or to get speech of Tressilian, and find- 
ing himself in possession of a letter addressed to no 
less a person than the Earl of Leicester, became 
much afraid of the consequences of his frolic. The 
caution, and indeed the alarm, which Wayland had 
expressed respecting Varney and Lambourne, led 
him to judge, that the letter must be designed for 
the Earl's own hand, and that he might prejudice 
the lady, by giving it to any of the domestics. He 
made an attempt or two to obtain an audience of 
Leicester, but the singularity of his features, and 
the meanness of his appearance, occasioned his 
being always repulsed by the insolent menials 
whom he applied to for that purpose. Once, in- 
deed, he had nearly succeeded, when, in prowling 
about, hS found in the grotto the casket which he 
knew to belong to the unlucky Countess, having 
seen it on her journey ; for nothing escaped his 
prying eye. Having strove in vain to restore it 
either to Tressilian or the Countess, he put it into 
the hands, as we have seen, of Leicester himself, 


KENILWORTH. 


316 

but unfortunately he did not recognise him in his 
disguise. 

At length, the boy thought he was on the point 
of succeeding, when the Earl came down to the lower 
part of the hall ; but just as he was about to accost 
him, he was prevented by Tressilian. As sharp in 
ear as in wit, the boy heard the appointment settled 
betwixt them, to take place in the Pleasance, and 
resolved to add a third to the party, in hopes that, 
either in coming or in returning, he might find an 
opportunity of delivering the letter to Leicester ; 
for strange stories began to flit among the domestics, 
which alarmed him for the lady’s safety. Acci- 
dent, however, detained Dickon a little behind the 
Earl, and, as he reached the arcade, he saw them 
engaged in combat ; in consequence of which he 
hastened to alarm the guard, having little doubt, 
that what bloodshed took place betwixt them, might 
arise out of his own frolic. Continuing to lurk in 
the portico, he heard the second appointment, which 
Leicester, at parting, assigned to Tressilian, and 
was keeping them in view during the encounter of 
the Coventry men, when, to his surprise, he recog- 
nised Way land in the crowd, much disguised, in- 
deed, but not sufficiently so* to escape the prying 
glance of his old comrade. They drew aside out 
of the crowd to explain their situation to each other. 
The boy confessed to Wayland what we have above 
told, and the artist, in return, informed him, that 
his deep anxiety for the fate of the unfortunate lady 
had brought him back to the neighbourhood of the 
Castle, upon his learning that morning at a village 
about ten miles distant, that Varney and Lam- 
bourne, whose violence he dreaded, had both left 
Kenilworth over-night. 


KENILWORTH. 


V7 

While they spoke, they saw Leicester and Tres- 
silian separate themselves from the crowd, dogged 
them until they mounted their horses, when the 
boy, whose speed of foot has been before mentioned, 
though he could not possibly keep up with them, 
yet arrived, as we have seen, soon enough to save 
Tressilian’s life. The boy had just finished his tale 
when they reached the Gallery-tower. 


CHAPTER XXIIt 


High o’er the eastern steep the sun is beaming, 

And darkness flies with her deceitful shadows; — 

So truth prevails o’er falsehood. 

Old Play. 

As Tressilian rode along the bridge lately the 
scene of so much riotous sport, he could not but 
observe that men’s countenances had singularly 
changed during the space of his brief absence. 
The mock fight was over, but the men, still habited 
in their masquing suits, stood together in groups, 
like the inhabitants of a city who have been just 
startled by some strange and alarming news. 

When he reached the base-court, appearances 
were the same — domestics, retainers, and under 
officers, stood together and whispered, bending their 
eyes towards the windows of the great hall, with 
looks which seemed at once alarmed and mysterious. 

Sir Nicholas Blount was the first person of his 
own particular acquaintance Tressilian saw, who left 
him no time to make enquiries, but greeted him 
with, “God help thy heart, Tressilian, thou art 
fitter for a clown than a courtier — thou canst not 
attend, as becomes one who follows her Majesty, 

— Here you are called for, wished for, waited for 

— no man but you will serve the turn ; and hither 
you come with a misbegotten brat on thy horse’s 
neck, as if. thou wert dry nurse to some sucking 
devil, and wert just returned from airing.” 


KENILWORTH. 


3*0 

“ Why, what is the matter ? ” said Tressilian, let- 
ting go the boy, who sprung to ground like a 
feather, and himself dismounting at the same time. 

“ Why, no one knows the matter,” replied Blount ; 
“ I cannot smell it out myself, though I have a nose 
like other courtiers. Only, my Lord of Leicester 
has galloped along the bridge, as if he would have 
rode over all in his passage, demanded an audience 
of the Queen, and is closeted even now with her, 
and Burleigh and Walsingham — and you are called 
for — but whether the matter be treason or worse, 
no one knows.” 

“ He speaks true, by Heaven ! ” said Raleigh, who 
that instant appeared ; “ you must immediately to 
the Queen’s presence.” 

“ Be not rash, Raleigh,” said Blount, “ remember 
his boots — For Heaven’s sake, go to my chamber, 
dear Tressilian, and don my new bloom-coloured 
silken hose — I have worn them but twice.” 

“ Pshaw ! ” answered Tressilian ; “ do thou take 
care of this boy, Blount ; be kind to him, and look 
he escapes you not — much depends on him.” 

So saying, he followed Raleigh hastily, leaving 
honest Blount with the bridle of his horse in one 
hand, and the boy in the other. Blount gave along 
look after him. 

“ Nobody,” he said, “ calls me to these mysteries, 
— and he leaves me here to play horse-keeper and 
child-keeper at once. I could excuse the one, for 
I love a good horse naturally ; but to be plagued 
with a bratchet whelp — Whence come ye, my fair- 
favoured little gossip ? ” 

“ From the Fens,” answered the boy. 

“And what didst thou learn there, forward 
imp ? ” 


320 


KENILWORTH. 


* To catch gulls, with their webbed feet and yel- 
low stockings,” said the boy. 

“ Umph ! ” said Blount, looking down on his own 
immense roses, — "Nay, then the devil take him 
asks thee more questions.” 

Meantime Tressilian traversed the full length of 
the great hall, in which the astonished courtiers 
formed various groups, and were whispering myste- 
riously together, while all kept their eyes fixed on 
the door, which led from the upper end of the hall 
into the Queen’s withdrawing apartment. Raleigh 
pointed to the door — Tressilian knocked, and was 
instantly admitted. Many a neck was stretched to 
gain a view into the interior of the apartment ; but 
the tapestry which covered the door on the inside 
was dropped too suddenly to admit the slightest 
gratification of curiosity. 

Upon entrance, Tressilian found himself, not with- 
out a strong palpitation of heart, in the presence of 
Elizabeth, who was walking to and fro in a violent 
agitation, which she seemed to scorn to conceal, 
while two or three of her most sage and confidential 
counsellors exchanged anxious looks with each other, 
but delayed speaking till her wrath had abated. Be- 
fore the empty chair of state in which she had been 
seated, and which was half pushed aside by the vio- 
lence with which she had started from it, knelt Lei- 
cester, his arms crossed, and his brows bent on the 
ground, still and motionless as the effigies upon a 
sepulchre. Beside him stood the Lord Shrewsbury 
then Earl Marshal of England, holding his baton 
of office — the Earl’s sword was unbuckled, and lay 
before him on the floor. 

“ Ho, sir,” said the Queen, coming close up to Tres- 
silian, and stamping on the floor with the action and 


KENILWORTH. 


321 


manner of Henry himself; “ you knew of this fair 
work — you are an accomplice in this deception 
which has been practised on us — you have been 
a main cause of our doing injustice?” Tressilian 
dropped on his knee before the Queen, his good sense 
showing him the risk of attempting any defence at 
that moment of irritation. “ Art dumb, sirrah ! ” she 
continued ; “ thou know’st of this affair — dost thou 
not?” 

“ Not, gracious madam, that this poor lady was 
Countess of Leicester.” 

“ Nor shall any one know her for such,” said Eliza- 
beth. “ Death of my life ! Countess of Leicester ! — 
I say Dame Amy Dudley — and well if she have 
not cause to write herself widow of the traitor Rob- 
ert Dudley.” 

“ Madam,” said Leicester, “ do with me what it 
may be your will to do — but work no injury on this 
gentleman — he hath in no way deserved it.” 

“ And will he be the better for thy intercession,” 
said the Queen, leaving Tressilian, who slowly arose, 
and rushing to Leicester, who continued kneeling, 

— “ the better for thy intercession, thou doubly false 

— thou doubly forsworn ? — of thy intercession, 
whose villainy hath made me ridiculous to my sub- 
jects, and odious to myself ? — I could tear out mine 
eyes for their blindness ! ” 

Burleigh here ventured to interpose. 

“Madam,” he said, “remember that you are a 
Queen — Queen of England — mother of your peo- 
ple. Give not way to this wild storm of passion.” 

Elizabeth turned round to him, while a tear 
actually twinkled in her proud and angry eye. 
« Burleigh,” she said, “ thou art a statesman — 
thou dost not, thou canst not, comprehend half 


322 KENILWORTH. 

the scorn — half the misery, that man has poured 
on me!” 

With the utmost caution — with the deepest rev- 
erence, Burleigh took her hand at the moment he 
saw her heart was at the fullest, and led her aside to 
an oriel window, apart from the others. 

“ Madam,” he said, “ I am a statesman, but I am 
also a man — a man already grown old in your coun- 
cils, who have not and cannot have a wish on earth 
but your glory and happiness — I pray you to be 
composed.” 

“ Ah, Burleigh,” said Elizabeth, “ thou little know- 
est ” — here her tears fell over her cheeks in despite 
of her. 

“I do — I do know, my honoured sovereign. O 
beware that you lead not others to guess that which 
they know not ! ” 

“ Ha ! ” said Elizabeth, pausing as if a new train of 
thought had suddenly shot across her brain. “ Bur- 
leigh, thou art right — thou art right — any thing 
but disgrace — any thing but a confession of weak- 
ness — any thing rather than seem the cheated — 
slighted — ’Sdeath ! to think on it is distraction ! ” 

“ Be but yourself, my Queen,” said Burleigh ; “ and 
soar far above a weakness which no Englishman will 
ever believe his Elizabeth could have entertained, 
unless the violence of her disappointment carries a 
sad conviction to his bosom.” 

“What weakness, my lord?” said Elizabeth, 
haughtily ; “ would you too insinuate that the favour 
in which I held yonder proud traitor, derived its 
source from aught * — But here she could no longer 
sustain the proud tone which she had assumed, and 
again softened as she said, “ But why should I strive 
to deceive even thee, my good and wise servant 1 ** 


Kenilworth. 


323 

Burleigh stooped to kiss her hand with affection, 
and — rare in the annals of courts — a tear of true 
sympathy dropped from the eye of the minister on 
the hand of his Sovereign. 

It is probable that the consciousness of possessing 
this sympathy, aided Elizabeth in supporting her 
mortification, and suppressing her extreme resent- 
ment ; but she was still more moved by fear that 
her passion should betray to the public the affront 
and the disappointment, which, alike as a woman 
and a Queen, she was so anxious to conceal. She 
turned from Burleigh, and sternly paced the hall till 
her features had recovered their usual dignity, and 
her mien its wonted stateliness of regular motion. 

“ Our Sovereign is her noble self once more,” 
whispered Burleigh to Walsingham ; “ mark what 
she does, and take heed you thwart her not.” 

She then approached Leicester, and said, with 
calmness, “ My Lord Shrewsbury, we discharge you 
of your prisoner. — My Lord of Leicester, rise and 
take up your sword — a quarter of an hour’s re- 
straint, under the custody of our Marshal, my lord, 
is, we think, no high penance for months of false- 
hood practised upon us. We will now hear the pro- 
gress of this affair.” — She then seated herself in her 
chair, and said, “ You, Tressilian, step forward, and 
say what you know.” 

Tressilian told his story generously, suppressing 
as much as he could what affected Leicester, and 
saying nothing of their having twice actually fought 
together. It is very probable that, in doing so, he 
did the Earl good service; for had the Queen at 
that instant found any thing on account of which 
she might vent her wrath upon him, without laying 
open sentiments of which she was ashamed, it might 


324 


KENILWORTH, 


have fared hard with him. She paused when Tres- 
silian had finished his tale. 

“We will take that Way land” she said, “ into our 
own service, and place the boy in our Secretary- 
office for instruction, that he may in future use dis- 
cretion towards letters. For you, Tressilian, you did 
wrong in not communicating the whole truth to us, 
and your promise not to do so was both imprudent 
and undutiful. Yet, having given your word to this 
unhappy lady, it was the part of a man and a gentle- 
man to keep it; and on the whole, we esteem you 
for the character you have sustained in this matter. 
— My Lord of Leicester, it is now your turn to tell 
us the truth, an exercise to which you seem of late 
to have been too much a stranger.” 

Accordingly, she extorted, by successive questions, 
the whole history of his first acquaintance with Amy 
Robsart — their marriage — his jealousy — the causes 
on which it was founded, and many particulars be- 
sides. Leicester’s confession, for such it might be 
called, was wrenched from him piecemeal, yet was 
upon the whole accurate, excepting that he totally 
omitted to mention that he had, by implication, or 
otherwise, assented to Varney’s designs upon the life 
of his Countess. Yet the consciousness of this was 
what at that moment lay nearest to his heart ; and 
although he trusted in great measure to the very 
positive counter-orders which he had sent by Lam- 
bourne, it was his purpose to set out for Cumnor- 
Place, in person, as soon as he should be dismissed 
from the presence of the Queen, who, he concluded, 
would presently leave Kenilworth. 

But the Earl reckoned without his host. It is 
true, his presence and his communications were gall 
and wormwood to his once partial mistress. But, 


KENILWORTH. 


325 


barred from every other and more direct mode of 
revenge, the Queen perceived that she gave her 
false suitor torture by these enquiries, and dwelt 
on them for that reason, no more regarding the 
pain which she herself experienced, than the savage 
cares for the searing of his own hands by grasping 
the hot pincers with which he tears the flesh of his 
captive enemy. 

At length, however, the haughty lord, like a deer 
that turns to bay, gave intimation that his patience 
was failing. “ Madam,” he said, “ I have been much 
to blame — : more than even your just resentment has 
expressed. Yet, madam, let me say, that my guilt, 
if it be unpardonable, was not unprovoked ; and that, 
if beauty and condescending dignity could seduce the 
frail heart of a human being, I might plead both, as 
the causes of my concealing this secret from your 
Majesty.” 

The Queen was so much struck by this reply, 
which Leicester took care should be heard by no 
one but herself, that she was for the moment 
silenced, and the Earl had the temerity to pursue 
his advantage. “ Your Grace, who has pardoned so 
much, will excuse my throwing myself on your 
royal mercy for those expressions, which were yes- 
ter-morning accounted but a light offence.” 

The Queen fixed her eyes on him while she re- 
plied, “Now, by Heaven, my lord, thy effrontery 
passes the bounds of belief, as well as patience ! 
But it shall avail thee nothing. — What, ho ! my 
lords, come all and hear the news — My Lord of 
Leicester’s stolen marriage has cost me a husband, 
and England a King. His lordship is patriarchal in 
his tastes — one wife at a time was insufficient, and 
lie designed us the honour of his left hand. Now, 


KENILWORTH. 


326 

is not this too insolent, — that I could not grace him 
with a few marks of court-favour, but he must pre- 
sume to think my hand and crown at his disposal ? 
— You, however, think better of me ; and I can pity 
this ambitious man, as I could a child, whose bubble 
of soap has burst between his hands. We go to 
the presence-chamber — My Lord of Leicester, we 
command your close attendance on us.” 

All was eager expectation in the hall, and what 
was the universal astonishment, when the Queen 
said to those next her, “ The revels of Kenilworth 
are not yet exhausted, my lords and ladies — we 
are to solemnize the noble owner’s marriage.” 

There was an universal expression of surprise. 

“ It is true, on our royal word,” said the Queen ; 
“he hath kept this a secret even from us, that he 
might surprise us with it at this very place and time. 
I see you are dying of curiosity to know £jie happy 
bride — It is Amy Eobsart, the same wlioj to make 
up the May-game yesterday, figured in the pageant 
as the wife of his servant Varney.” 

“For God’s sake, madam,” said the Earl, approach- 
ing her with a mixture of humility, vexation, and 
shame in his countenance, and speaking so low as 
to be heard by no one else, “ take my head, as you 
threatened in your anger, and spare me these taunts! 
Urge not a falling man — tread not on a crushed 
worm.” 

“ A worm, my lord ? ” said the Queen, in the same 
tone ; “ nay, a snake is the nobler reptile, and the 
more exact similitude — the frozen snake you wot 
of, which was warmed in a certain bosom ” 

“For your own sake — for mine, madam,” said 
the Earl — “ while there is yet some reason left io 
me ” 


KENILWORTH. 


327 


“ Speak aloud, my lord,” said Elizabeth, “ and at 
farther distance, so please you — your breath thaws 
our ruff. What have you to ask of us ? ” 

“ Permission,” said the unfortunate Earl, humbly, 
“to travel to Cumnor-Place.” 

“ To fetch home your bride belike ? — Why, ay, 
— that is but right — for, as we have heard, she is 
indifferently cared for there. But, my lord, you go 
not in person — we have counted upon passing cer- 
tain days in this castle of Kenilworth, and it were 
slight courtesy to leave us without a landlord during 
our residence here. Under your favour, we cannot 
think to incur such disgrace in the eyes of our sub- 
jects. Tressilian shall go to Cumnor-Place instead 
of you, and with him some gentleman who hath * 
been sworn of our chamber, lest my Lord of Leices- 
ter should be again jealous of his old rival. — Whom 
wouldst thou have to be in commission with thee, 
Tressilian 

Tressilian, with humble deference, suggested the 
name of Raleigh. 

“ Why, ay,” said the Queen ; “ so God ha’ me, thou 
hast made a good choice. He is a young knight be- 
sides, and to deliver a lady from prison is an appro- 
priate first adventure. — Cumnor-Place is little better 
than a prison, you are to know, my lords and ladies. 
Besides, there are certain faitours there whom we 
would willingly have in fast keeping. You will 
furnish them, Master Secretary, with the warrant 
necessary to secure the bodies of Richard Varney 
and the foreign Alasco, dead or alive. Take a suffi- 
cient force with you, gentlemen — bring the lady 
here in all honour — lose no time, and God be with 
you!” 

They bowed, and left the presence. 


328 


KENILWORTH. 


Who shall describe how the rest of that day was 
spent at Kenilworth ? The Queen, who seemed to 
have remained there for the sole purpose of morti- 
fying and taunting the Earl of Leicester, showed 
herself as skilful in that female art of vengeance, as 
she was in the science of wisely governing her people. 
The train of state soon caught the signal, and, as 
he walked among his own splendid preparations, 
the Lord of Kenilworth, in his own Castle, already 
experienced the lot of a disgraced courtier, in the 
slight regard and cold manners of alienated friends, 
and the ill-concealed triumph of avowed and open 
enemies. Sussex, from his natural military frank- 
ness of disposition, Burleigh and Walsingham, from 
their penetrating and prospective sagacity, and some 
of the ladies, from the compassion of their sex, were 
the only persons in the crowded court who retained 
towards him the countenance they had borne in the 
morning. 

So much had Leicester been accustomed to con- 
sider court-favour as the principal object of his life, 
that all other sensations were, for the time, lost in 
the agony which his haughty spirit felt at the suc- 
cession of petty insults and studied neglects to which 
he had been subjected ; but when he retired to his 
own chamber for the night, that long fair tress of 
hair which had once secured Amy’s letter, fell 
under his observation, and with the influence of a 
counter-charm, awakened his heart to nobler and 
more natural feelings. He kissed it a thousand 
times, and while he recollected that he had it always 
in his power to shun the mortifications which he 
had that day undergone, by retiring into a dignified 
and even princelike seclusion, with the beautiful 
and beloved partner of his future life, he felt that 


KENILWORTH. 


329 

he could rise above the revenge which Elizabeth 
had condescended to take. 

Accordingly, on the following day, the whole 
conduct of the Earl displayed so much dignified equa- 
nimity; he seemed so solicitous about the accom- 
modations and amusements of his guests, yet so 
indifferent to their personal demeanour towards him : 
so respectfully distant to the Queen, yet so patient 
of her harassing displeasure, that Elizabeth changed 
her manner to him, and, though cold and distant, 
ceased to offer him any direct affront. She inti- 
mated also with some sharpness to others around her, 
who thought they were consulting her pleasure in 
showing a neglectful conduct to the Earl, that while 
they remained at Kenilworth, they ought to show 
the civility due from guests to the Lord of the 
Castle. In short, matters were so far changed in 
twenty-four hours, that some of the more expe- 
rienced and sagacious courtiers foresaw a strong 
possibility of Leicester’s restoration to favour, and 
regulated their demeanour towards him, as those 
who might one day claim merit for not having 
deserted him in adversity. It is time, however, to 
leave these intrigues, and follow Tressilian and 
Kaleigh on their journey. 

The troop consisted of six persons ; for, besides 
Wayland, they had in company a royal pursuivant 
and two stout serving-men. All were well armed, 
and travelled as fast as it was possible with justice 
to their horses, which had a long journey before 
them. They endeavoured to procure some tidings as 
they rode along of Varney and his party, but could 
hear none, as they had travelled in the dark. At a 
small village about twelve miles from Kenilworth, 
where they gave some refreshment to their horses, 


330 


KENILWORTH. 


a poor clergyman, the curate of the place, came out 
of a small cottage, and entreated any of the com- 
pany who might know aught of surgery, to look in 
for an instant on a dying man. 

The empiric Way land undertook to do his best, 
and as the curate conducted him to the spot, he 
learned that the man had been found on the high- 
road, about a mile from the village, by labourers, as 
they were going to their work on the preceding 
morning, and the curate had given him shelter in 
his house. He had received a gun-shot wound which 
seemed to be obviously mortal, but whether in a 
brawl or from robbers they could not learn, as he was 
in a fever, and spoke nothing connectedly. Wayland 
entered the dark and lowly apartment, and no sooner 
had the curate drawn aside the curtain, than he 
knew in the distorted features of the patient the 
countenance of Michael Lambourne. Under pre- 
tence of seeking something which he wanted, Way- 
land hastily apprized his fellow-travellers of this 
extraordinary circumstance ; and both Tressilian and 
Raleigh, full of boding apprehensions, hastened to 
the curate’s house to see the dying man. 

The wretch was by this time in the agonies of 
death, from which a much better surgeon than Way- 
land could not have rescued him, for the bullet had 
passed clear through his body. He was sensible, 
however, at least in part, for he knew Tressilian, 
and made signs that he wished him to stoop over 
his bed. Tressilian did so, and after some inarticu- 
late murmurs, in which the names of Varney and 
Lady Leicester were alone distinguishable, Lam- 
bourne bade him “ make haste, or he would come 
too late.” It was in vain Tressilian urged the pa- 
tient for farther information ; he seemed to become 


KENILWORTH. 


33 * 


in some degree delirious, and when he again made 
a signal to attract Tressilian’s attention, it was only 
for the purpose of desiring him to inform his uncle, 
Giles Gosling of the Black Bear, “ that he had died 
without his shoes after all.” A convulsion verified 
his words a few minutes after, and the travellers 
derived nothing from having met with him, save 
the obscure fears concerning the fate of the Coun- 
tess, which his dying words were calculated to con- 
vey, and which induced them to urge their journey 
with the utmost speed, pressing horses in the Queen’s 
name, when those which they rode became unfit for 
service. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 


The death-bell thrice was heard to ring, 

An aerial voice was heard to call ; 

And thrice the raven flapp’d its wing, 

Around the towers of Cumnor-Hall. 

Mickle. 

We are now to return to that part of our story 
where we intimated that Varney, possessed of 
the authority of the Earl of Leicester, and of the 
Queen’s permission to the same effect, hastened to 
secure himself against discovery of his perfidy, by 
removing the Countess from Kenilworth Castle. 
He had proposed to set forth early in the morn- 
ing, but reflecting that the Earl might relent in 
the interim, and seek another interview with the 
Countess, he resolved to prevent, by immediate de- 
parture, all chance of what would probably have 
ended in his detection and ruin. For this pur- 
pose he called for Lambourne, and was exceed- 
ingly incensed to find that his trusty attendant 
was abroad on some ramble in the neighbouring 
village, or elsewhere. As his return was expected, 
Sir Richard commanded that he should prepare 
himself for attending him on an immediate jour- 
ney, and follow him in case he returned after his 
departure. 

In the meanwhile, Varney used the ministry of 
a servant called Robin Tider, one to whom the 
mysteries of Cumnor-Place were already in some 


KENILWORTH. 


333 


degree known, as he had been there more than 
once in attendance on the Earl. To this man, whose 
character resembled that of Lambourne, though 
he was neither quite so prompt nor altogether 
so profligate, Varney gave command to have three 
horses saddled, and to prepare a horse-litter, and 
have them .in readiness at the postern-gate. The 
natural enough excuse of his lady’s insanity, which 
was now universally believed, accounted for the 
secrecy with which she was to be removed from the 
Castle, and he reckoned on the same apology in 
case the unfortunate Amy’s resistance or screams 
should render such necessary. The agency of An- 
thony Foster was indispensable, and that Varney 
now went to secure. 

This person, naturally of a sour unsocial disposi- 
tion, and somewhat tired, besides, with his journey 
from Cumnor to Warwickshire, in order to bring 
the news of the Countess’s escape, had early extri- 
cated himself from the crowd of wassailers, and be- 
taken himself to his chamber, where he lay asleep, 
when Varney, completely equipped for travelling, 
and with a dark lantern in his hand, entered his 
apartment. He paused an instant to listen to 
what his associate was murmuring in his sleep, 
and could plainly distinguish the words, “ Ave 
Maria — ora pro nobis — No — it runs not so — 
deliver us from evil — Ay, so it goes.” 

“ Praying in his sleep,” said Varney ; “ and con- 
founding his old and new devotions — He must 
have more need of prayer ere I am done with 
him. — What ho ! holy man — most blessed peni- 
tent ! — Awake — awake ! — The devil has not dis- 
charged you from service yet.” 

As Varney at the same time shook the sleeper 


334 


KENILWORTH. 


by the arm, it changed the current of his ideas, and 
he roared out, “ Thieves ! — thieves ! I will die in 
defence of my gold — my hard-won gold, that has 
cost me so dear. — Where is Janet? — Is Janet 
safe ? ” 

“Safe enough, thou bellowing fool!” said Var- 
ney ; “ art thou not ashamed of thy clamour ? ” 

Foster by this time was broad awake, and, sit- 
ting up in his bed, asked Varney the meaning of so 
untimely a visit. “It augurs nothing good,” he 
added. 

“A false prophecy, most sainted Anthony,” re- 
turned Varney ; “it augurs that the hour is come 
for converting thy leasehold into copyhold — What 
say’st thou to that ? ” 

“ Hadst thou told me this in broad day,” said 
Foster, “I had rejoiced — but at this dead hour, 
and by this dim light, and looking on thy pale 
face, which is a ghastly contradiction to thy light 
words, I cannot but rather think of the work 
that is to be done, than the guerdon to be gained 
by it.” 

“ Why, thou fool, it is but to escort thy charge 
back to Cumnor-Place.” 

“ Is that indeed all ? ” said Foster ; “ thou look’st 
deadly pale, and thou art not moved by trifles — is 
that indeed all ? ” 

“ Ay, that — and maybe a trifle more,” answered 
Varney. 

“ Ah, that trifle more ! ” said Foster ; “ still thou 
look’st paler and paler.” 

“ Heed not my countenance/* said Varney, “ you 
see it by this wretched light. Up and be doing, 
man — Think of Cumnor-Place — thine own pro- 
per copyhold — Why, thou mayst found a weekly 


KENILWORTH. 


335 


lectureship, besides endowing Janet like a baron’s 
daughter. — Seventy pounds and odd.” 

“ Seventy-nine pounds, five shillings and five* 
pence halfpenny, besides the value of the wood,” 
said Foster ; “ and I am to have it all as copyhold ? ” 

“ All, man — squirrels and all — no gipsy shall 
cut the value of a broom — no boy so much as 
take a bird’s nest, without paying thee a quit- 
tance. — Ay, that is right — don thy matters as fast 
as possible — horses and every thing are ready, all 
save that accursed villain Lambourne, who is out 
on some infernal gambol.” 

“Ay, Sir Richard,” said Foster, “you would take 
no advice. I ever told you that drunken profligate 
would fail you at need. Now I could have helped 
you to a sober young man.” 

“ What, some slow-spoken, long-breathed brother 
of the congregation ? — Why, we shall have use 
for such also, man — Heaven be praised, we shall 
lack labourers of every kind. — Ay, that is right 
— forget not your pistols — Come now, and let us 
away.” 

“ Whither ? ” said Anthony. 

“ To my lady’s chamber — and, mind — she must 
along with us. Thou art not a fellow to be startled 
by a shriek ? ” 

“ Not if Scripture-reason can he rendered for it ; 
and it is written, ‘wives, obey your husbands.’ 
But will my lord’s commands bear us out if we use 
violence ? ” 

“Tush, man ! here is his signet,” answered Var- 
ney ; and, having thus silenced the objections of his 
associate, they went together to Lord Hunsdon’s 
apartments, and, acquainting the sentinel with their 
purpose, as a matter sanctioned by the Queen and 


336 


KENILWORTH. 


the Earl of Leicester, they entered the chamber of 
the unfortunate Countess. 

The horror of Amy may be conceived, when, 
starting from a broken slumber, she saw at her bed- 
side Varney, the man on earth she most feared and 
hated. It was even a consolation to see that he was 
not alone, though she had so much reason to dread 
his sullen companion. 

“ Madam,” said Varney, “ there is no time for 
ceremony. My Lord of Leicester, having fully con- 
sidered the exigencies of the time, sends you his 
orders immediately to accompany us on our return 
to Cumnor-Place. See, here is his signet, in token 
of his instant and pressing commands.” 

“ It is false ! ” said the Countess ; “ thou hast 
stolen the warrant, — thou, who art capable of every 
villainy, from the blackest to the basest ! ” 

“ It is true, madam,” replied Varney ; “ so true, 
that if you do not instantly arise, and prepare to 
attend us, we must compel you to obey our orders.” 

“ Compel ! — thou darest not put it to that 
issue, base as thou art,” exclaimed the unhappy 
Countess. 

"That remains to be proved, madam,” said Var- 
ney, who had determined on intimidation as the 
only means of subduing her high spirit; “if you 
put me to it, you will find me a rough groom of the 
chamber.” 

It was at this threat that Amy screamed so fear- 
fully, that had it not been for the received opinion 
of her insanity, she would quickly have had Lord 
Hunsdon and others to her aid. Perceiving, how- 
ever, that her cries were vain, she appealed to 
Foster in the most affecting terms, conjuring him, 
as his daughter Janet’s honour and purity was dear 


KENILWORTH. 


337 


to him, not to permit her to be treated with un- 
womanly violence. 

“ Why, madam, wives must obey their husbands, 
— there’s Scripture warrant for it,” said Foster; 
“ and if you will dress yourself, and come with us 
patiently, there’s no one shall lay finger on you 
while I can draw a pistol-trigger.” 

Seeing no help arrive, and comforted even by the 
dogged language of Foster, the Countess promised 
to arise and dress herself, if they would agree to 
retire from the room. Varney at the same time 
assured her of all safety and honour while in their 
hands, and promised, that he himself would not ap- 
proach her, since his presence was so displeasing. 
Her husband, he added, would be at Cumn or- Place 
within twenty-four hours after they had reached it. 

Somewhat comforted by this assurance, upon 
which, however, she saw little reason to rely, the 
unhappy Amy made her toilette by the assistance 
of the lantern, which they left with her when they 
quitted the apartment. 

Weeping, trembling, and praying, the unfortunate 
lady dressed herself, — with sensations how different 
from the days in which she was wont to decorate 
herself in all the pride of conscious beauty ! She 
endeavoured to delay the completing her dress as 
long as she could, until, terrified by the impatience 
of Varney, she was obliged to declare herself ready 
to attend them. 

When they were about to move, the Countess 
clung to Foster with such an appearance of terror 
at Varney’s approach, that the latter protested to 
her, with a deep oath, that he had no intention 
whatever of even coming near her. “ If you do but 
consent to execute your husband’s will in quietness, 


KENILWORTH. 


338 

you shall,” he said, “ see but little of me. I will 
leave you undisturbed to the care of the usher whom 
your good taste prefers.” 

“ My husband’s will ! ” she exclaimed. “ But it 
is the will of God, and let that be sufficient to me. 
— I will go with Master Foster as unresistingly as 
ever did a literal sacrifice. He is a father at least ; 
and will have decency if not humanity. For thee, 
Varney, were it my latest word, thou art an equal 
stranger to both.” 

Varney replied only, she was at liberty to choose, 
and walked some paces before them to show the 
way ; while, half leaning on Foster, and half carried 
by him, the Countess was transported from Saint- 
lowe’s Tower to the postern-gate, where Tider waited 
with the litter and horses. 

The Countess was placed in the former without 
resistance. She saw with some satisfaction, that 
while Foster and Tider rode close by the litter, 
which the latter conducted, the dreaded Varney 
lingered behind, and was soon lost in darkness. 
A little while she strove, as the road winded round 
the verge of the lake, to keep sight of those stately 
towers which called her husband lord, and which 
still, in some places, sparkled with lights, where was- 
sailers were yet revelling. But when the direction 
of the road rendered this no longer possible, she 
drew back her head, and, sinking down in the litter, 
recommended herself to the care of Providence. 

Besides the desire of inducing the Countess to 
proceed quietly on her journey, Varney had it also 
in view to have an interview with Lambourne, by 
whom he every moment expected to be joined, 
without the presence of any witnesses. He knew 
the character of this man, prompt, bloody, resolute 


KENILWORTH. 


339 


and greedy, and judged him the most fit agent he 
could employ in his farther designs. But ten miles 
of their journey had been measured ere he heard 
the hasty clatter of horse’s hoofs behind him, and 
was overtaken by Michael Lambourne. 

Fretted as he was with his absence, Varney 
received his < profligate servant with a rebuke of 
unusual bitterness. “Drunken villain,” he said, 
“thy idleness and debauched folly will stretch a 
halter ere it be long ; and, for me, I care not how 
soon ! ” 

This style of objurgation, Lambourne, who was 
elated to an unusual degree, not only by an extraor- 
dinary cup of wine, but by the sort of confidential 
interview he had just had with the Earl, and the 
secret of which he had made himself master, did not 
receive with his wonted humility. “ He would take 
no insolence of language,” he said, “ from the best 
knight that ever wore spurs. Lord Leicester had 
detained him on some business of import, and that 
was enough for Varney, who was but a servant like 
himself.” 

Varney was not a little surprised at his unusual 
tone of insolence ; but, ascribing it to liquor, suffered 
it to pass as if unnoticed, and then began to tamper 
with Lambourne, touching his willingness to aid in 
removing out of the Earl of Leicester’s way an 
obstacle to a rise, which would put it in his power 
to reward his trusty followers to their utmost wish. 
And upon Michael Lambourne’s seeming ignorant 
what was meant, he plainly indicated “ the litter- 
load, yonder,” as the impediment which he desired 
should be removed. 

“Look you, Sir Richard, and so forth,” said 
Michael, “some are wiser than some, that is one 


340 


KENILWORTH. 


thing, and some are worse than some, that’s another. 
I know my lord’s mind on this matter better than 
thou, for he hath trusted me fully in the matter. 
Here are his mandates, and his last words were, 
Michael Lambourne, — for his lordship speaks to 
me as a gentleman of the sword, and useth not the 
words drunken villain, or such like phrases, of 
those who know not how to bear new dignities, — 
Varney, says he, must pay the utmost respect to 
my Countess — I trust to you for looking to it, 
Lambourne, says his lordship, and you must bring 
back my signet from him peremptorily.” 

“Ay,” replied Varney, “said he so, indeed ? You 
know all, then ? ” 

“ All — all — and you were as wise to make a 
friend of me while the weather is fair betwixt us.” 

“And was there no one present,” said Varney, 
“ when my lord so spoke ? ” 

“Not a breathing creature,” replied Lambourne. 
“Think you my lord would trust any one with 
such matters, save an approved man of action like 
myself ? ” 

“Most true,” said Varney; and, making a pause, 
he looked forward on the moonlight road. They 
were traversing a wide and open heath. The litter 
being at least a mile before them, was both out of 
sight and hearing. He looked behind, and there 
was an expanse, lighted by the moonbeams, with- 
out one human being in sight. He resumed his 
speech to Lambourne : “ And will you turn upon 
your master, who has introduced you to this career 
of courtlike favour — whose apprentice you have 
been, Michael — who has taught you the depths 
and shallows of court intrigue ? ” 

“ Michael not me ! ” said Lambourne ; “ I have a 


KENILWORTH. 


341 


name will brook a master before it as well as 
another ; and as to the rest, if I have been an 
apprentice, my indenture is out, and I am resolute 
to set up for myself.” 

“Take thy quittance. first, thou fool!” said Var- 
ney ; and with a pistol, which he had for some time 
held in his hand, shot Lambourne through the body. 

The wretch fell from his horse, without a single 
groan ; and Varney, dismounting, rifled his pockets, 
turning out the lining, that it might appear he had 
fallen by robbers. He secured the Earl’s packet, 
which was his chief object, but he also took Lam- 
bourne’s purse, containing some gold pieces, the 
relics of what his debauchery had left him, and, 
from a singular combination of feelings, carried it 
in his hand only the length of a small river, which 
crossed the road, into which he threw it as far as 
he could fling. Such are the strange remnants of 
conscience which remain after she seems totally 
subdued, that this cruel and remorseless man would 
have felt himself degraded had he pocketed the few 
pieces belonging to the wretch whom he had thus 
ruthlessly slain. 

The murderer reloaded his pistol, after cleansing 
the lock and barrel from the appearances of late 
explosion, and rode calmly after the litter, satisfying 
himself that he had so adroitly removed a trouble- 
some witness to many of his intrigues, and the 
bearer of mandates which he had no intention to 
obey, and which, therefore, he was desirous it 
should be thought had never reached his hand. 

The remainder of the journey was made with a 
degree of speed, which showed the little care they 
had for the health of the unhappy Countess. They 
paused only at places where all was under their 


342 


KENILWORTH. 


command, and where the tale they were prepared 
to tell of the insane Lady Varney would have 
obtained ready credit, had she made an attempt 
to appeal to the compassion of the few persons 
admitted to see her. But Amy saw no chance of 
obtaining a hearing from any to whom she had an 
opportunity of addressing herself, and, besides, was 
too terrified for the presence of Varney, to violate 
the implied condition, under which she was to travel 
free from his company. The authority of Varney, 
often so used, during the Earl’s private journeys to 
Cumnor, readily procured relays of horses where 
wanted, so that they approached Cumnor-Place 
upon the night after they left Kenilworth. 

At this period of the journey, Varney came up 
to the rear of the litter, as he had done before 
repeatedly during their progress, and asked, “ What 
does she ? ” 

“She sleeps,” said Foster; “I would we were 
home — her strength is exhausted.” 

“ Rest will restore her,” answered Varney. “She 
shall soon sleep sound and long — we must consider 
how to lodge her in safety.” 

“ In her own apartments, to be sure,” said Foster. 
“I have sent Janet to her aunt’s, with a proper 
rebuke, and the old women are truth itself — for 
they hate this lady cordially.” 

“We will not trust them, however, friend An- 
thony,” said Varney; “we must secure her in that 
stronghold where you keep your gold.” 

“ My gold ! ” said Anthony, much alarmed ; “ why, 
what gold have I ? — God help me, I have no gold 
— I would I had.” 

“ Now, marry hang thee, thou stupid brute — 
who thinks of, or cares for, thy gold ? — If I did, 


KENILWORTH. 


343 

could I not find an hundred better ways to come 
at it ? — In one word, thy bedchamber, which thou 
hast fenced so curiously, must be her place of 
seclusion ; and thou, thou hind, shalt press her 
pillows of down. — I dare to say the Earl will 
never ask after . the rich furniture of these four 
rooms.” 

This last consideration rendered Foster tractable ; 
he only asked permission to ride before, to make 
matters ready, and, spurring his horse, he posted 
before the litter, while Yarney falling about three- 
score paces behind it, it remained only attended by 
Tider. 

When they had arrived at Cumnor Place, the 
Countess asked eagerly for Janet, and showed much 
alarm when informed that she was no longer to have 
the attendance of that amiable girl. 

“ My daughter is dear to me, madam,” said Fos- 
ter, gruffly ; “ and I desire not that she should get 
the court-tricks of lying and ’scaping — somewhat 
too much of that has she learned already, an it 
please your ladyship.” 

The Countess, much fatigued and greatly terri- 
fied by the circumstances of her journey, made no 
answer to this insolence, but mildly expressed a 
wish to retire to her chamber. 

“Ay, ay,” muttered Foster, “’tis but reason- 
able ; but, under favour, you go not to your gewgaw 
toy-house yonder — you will sleep to-night in better 
security.” 

“ I would it were in my grave,” said the Countess ; 
“ but that mortal feelings shiver at the idea of soul 
and body parting.” 

“ You, I guess, have no chance to shiver at that,” 
replied Foster. “My lord comes hither to-mor- 


344 


KENILWORTH. 


row, and doubtless you will make your own ways 
good with him.” 

“ But does he come hither ? — does he indeed, 
good Foster ? ” 

“ 0 ay, good Foster ! ” replied the other. “ But 
what Foster shall I be to-morrow, when you speak 
of me to my lord — though all I have done' was to 
obey his own orders ?” 

“ You shall be my protector — a rough one indeed 

— but still a protector,” answered the Countess. 
“ 0, that Janet were but here ! ” 

“She is better where she is,” answered Foster 

— “ one of you is enough to perplex a plain head — 
but will you taste any refreshment ? ” 

“ O no, no — my chamber — my chamber. I 
trust,” she said, apprehensively, “I may secure it on 
the inside?” 

“ With all my heart,” answered Foster, “ so I 
may secure it on the outside ; ” and taking a light, 
he led the way to a part of the building where Amy 
had never been, and conducted her up a stair of 
great height, preceded by one of the old women with 
a lamp. At the head of the stair, which seemed of 
almost immeasurable height, they crossed a short 
wooden gallery, formed of black oak, and very nar- 
row, at the farther end of which was a strong oaken 
door, which opened and admitted them into the 
miser’s apartment, homely in its accommodations in 
the very last degree, and, except in name, little dif- 
ferent from a prison-room. 

Foster stopped at the door, and gave the lamp to 
the Countess, without either offering or permitting 
the attendance of the old woman who had carried 
it. The lady stood not on ceremony, but taking 
it hastily, barred the door, and secured it with 


KENILWORTH. 345 

the ample means provided on the inside for that 
purpose. 

Varney, meanwhile, had lurked behind on the 
stairs, but hearing the door barred, he now came 
up on tiptoe, and Foster, winking to him, pointed 
with self-complacence to a piece of concealed ma- 
chinery in the wall, which, playing with much ease 
and little noise, dropped a part of the wooden gal- 
lery, after the manner of a drawbridge, so as to cut 
off all communication between the door of the bed- 
room, which he usually inhabited, and the landing- 
place of the high winding-stair which ascended to 
it. The rope by which this machinery was wrought 
was generally carried within the bedchamber, it 
being Foster’s object to provide against invasion 
from without ; but now that it was intended to se- 
cure the prisoner within, the cord had been brought 
over to the landing-place, and was there made fast, 
when Foster, with much complacency, had dropped 
the unsuspected trap-door. 

Varney looked with great attention at the ma- 
chinery, and peeped more than once down the abyss 
which was opened by the fall of the trap-door. It 
was dark as pitch, and seemed profoundly deep, 
going, as Foster informed his confederate in a whis- 
per, nigh to the lowest vault of the Castle. Var- 
ney cast once more a fixed and long look down 
into this sable gulf, and then followed Foster to the 
part of the manor-house most usually inhabited. 

When they arrived in the parlour which we have 
mentioned, Varney requested Foster to get them 
supper, and some of the chpicest wine. “ I will 
seek Alasco,” he added ; “ we have work for him 
to do, and we must put him in good heart.” 

Foster groaned at this intimation, but made no 


346 


KENILWORTH. 


remonstrance. The old woman assured Varney that 
Alasco had scarce eaten or drunken since her mas- 
ter’s departure, living perpetually shut up in the 
laboratory, and talking as if the world’s continuance 
depended on what he was doing there. 

“ I will teach him that the world hath other claims 
on him,” said Varney, seizing a light, and going in 
quest of the alchemist. He returned, after a con- 
siderable absence, very pale, but yet with his habi- 
tual sneer on his check and nostril — “ Our friend,” 
he said, “has exhaled.” 

“ How ! what mean you ? ” said Foster — “ Run 
away — fled with my forty pounds, that should have 
been multiplied a thousand fold ? I will have Hue 
and Cry ! ” 

“ I will tell thee a surer way,” said Varney. 

“ How ! which way ? ” exclaimed Foster; “I will 
have back my forty pounds — I deemed them as 
surely a thousand times multiplied — I will have 
back my in-put, at the least.” 

“ Go hang thyself, then, and sue Alasco in the 
Devil’s Court of Chancery, for thither he has car- 
ried the cause.” 

“ How ! — what dost thou mean — is he dead ? ” 

“ Ay, truly is he, 1 ’ said Varney ; “ and properly 
swoln already in the face and body — He had been 
mixing some of his devil’s medicines, and th^ glass 
mask which he used constantly had fallen from his 
face, so that the subtle poison entered the brain, and 
did its work.” 

“ Sancta Maria ! ” said Foster ; — “I mean, God 
in his mercy preserve ns from covetousness and 
deadly sin ! — Had he not had projection, think you ? 
Saw you no ingots in the crucibles ?” 

“ Nay, I looked not but at the dead carrion,” 


KENILWORTH. 


347 


answered Varney ; “ an ugly spectacle — he was 
swoln like a corpse three days exposed on the 
wheel — Pah! give me a cup of wine.” 

“I will go,” said Foster, “I will examine myself” 

He took the lamp, and hastened to the door, 

hut there hesitated,. and paused. “ Will you not go 
with me ? ” said he to Yarney. 

“ To what purpose ? ” said Yarney; “I have seen 
and smelled enough to spoil my appetite. I broke 
the window, however, and let in the air — it reeked 
of sulphur, and such like suffocating steams, as if 
the very devil had been there.” 

“ And might it not be the act of the Demon him- 
self ? ” said Foster, still hesitating ; “ I have heard he 
is powerful at such times, and with such people.” 

“ Still, if it were that Satan of thine,” answered 
Varney, “ who thus jades thy imagination, thou art 
in perfect safety, unless he is a most unconscion- 
able devil indeed. He hath had two good sops of 
late.” 

“ How, two sops — what mean you ? ” said Foster 
— “ what mean you ? ” 

“You will know in time,” said Yarney; — “and 
then this other banquet — but thou wilt esteem 
Her too choice a morsel for the fiend’s tooth — she 
must have her psalms, and harps, and seraphs.” 

Anthony Foster heard, and came slowly back to 
the table : “ God ! Sir Richard, and must that then 
be done ? ” 

“Ay, in very truth, Anthony, or there comes 
no copyhold in thy way,” replied his inflexible 
associate. 

“ I always foresaw it would land there ! ” said 
Foster ; “ but how, Sir Richard, how ? — for not to 
win the world would I put hands on her.” 


348 


KENILWORTH. 


“I cannot blame thee,” said Varney; “I should 
be reluctant to do that myself — we miss Alasco and 
his manna sorely ; ay, and the dog Lambourne.” 

“ Why, where tarries Lambourne ? ” said Anthony. 

“Ask no questions,” said Varney, “thou wilt see 
him one day, if thy creed is true. — But to our 
graver matter. — I will teach thee a spring, Tony, 
to catch a pewit — yonder trap-door — yonder gim- 
crack of thine, will remain secure in appearance, 
will it not, though the supports are withdrawn 
beneath ? ” 

“ Ay, marry, will it,” said Foster ; “ so long as it 
is not trodden on.” 

“ But were the lady to attempt an escape over 
it,” replied Varney, “her weight would carry it 
down ? ” 

“ A mouse’s weight would do it,” said Foster. 

“ Why, then, she dies in attempting her escape, . 
and what could you or I help it, honest Tony ? Let 
us to bed, we will adjust our project to-morrow.” 

On the next day, when evening approached, Var- 
ney summoned Foster to the execution of their plan. 
Tider and Foster’s old-man servant were sent on a 
feigned errand down to the village, and Anthony 
himself, as if anxious to see that the Countess suf- 
fered no want of accommodation, visited her place 
of confinement. He was so much staggered at the 
mildness and patience with which she seemed to 
endure her confinement, that he could not help 
earnestly recommending to her not to cross the 
threshold of her room on any account whatever, 
until Lord Leicester should come, “ which,” he 
added, “ I trust in God, will be very soon.” Amy 
patiently promised that she would resign herself to 
her fate, and Foster returned to his hardened com- 


KENILWORTH, 


349 


W 

panion with his conscience half-eased of the peril- 
ous load that weighed on it. “ I have warned her,” 
he said ; “ surely in vain is the snare set in the 
sight of any bird ! ” 

He left, therefore, the Countess’s door unsecured 
on the outside, and, under the eye of Varney, with- 
drew the supports which sustained the falling trap, 
which, therefore, kept its level position merely by 
a slight adhesion. They withdrew to wait the issue 
on the ground-floor adjoining, but they waited long 
in vain. At length Varney, after walking long to 
and fro, with his face muffled in his cloak, threw 
it suddenly back, and exclaimed, “ Surely never was 
a woman fool enough to neglect so fair an opportu- 
nity of escape ! ” 

“ Perhaps she is resolved,” said Foster, “ to await 
her husband’s return.” 

“True! — most true,” said Varney, rushing out, 
“ I had not thought of that before.” 

In less than two minutes, Foster, who remained 
behind, heard the tread of a horse in the court- 
yard, and then a whistle similar to that which was 
the Earl’s usual signal ; — the instant after the door 
of the Countess’s chamber opened, and in the same 
moment the trap-door gave way. There was a rush- 
ing sound — a heavy fall — a faint groan — and all 
was over. 

At the same instant, Varney called in at the win- 
dow, in an accent and tone which was an indescrib- 
able mixture betwixt horror and raillery, “Is the 
bird caught ? — is the deed done ? ” 

“ 0 God, forgive us ! ” replied Anthony Foster. 

“ Why, thou fool,” said Varney, “ thy toil is 
ended, and thy reward secure. Look down into 
the vault — what seest thou ? ” 


KENILWORTH. 


u I see only a heap of white clothes, like a snow- 
drift,” said Foster. “ 0 God, she moves her arm ! ” 

“ Hurl something down on her. — Thy gold chest, 
Tony — it is an heavy one.” 

“ Varney, thou art an incarnate fiend ! ” replied 
Foster ; — “ There needs nothing more — she is gone ! ” 

“So pass our troubles,” said Varney, entering the 
room ; “ I dreamed not I could have mimicked the 
Earl’s call so well.” 

“ Oh, if there be judgment in Heaven, thou hast 
deserved it,” said Foster, “ and wilt meet it ! — 
Thou hast destroyed her by means of her best affec- 
tions — It is a seething of the kid in the mother’s 
milk ! ” 

“Thou art a fanatical ass,” replied Varney; “let 
us now think how the alarm should be given, — the 
body is to remain where it is.” 

But their wickedness was to be permitted no 
longer ; — for, even while they were at this consul- 
tation, Tressilian and Raleigh broke in upon them, 
having obtained admittance by means of Tider and 
Foster’s servant, whom they had secured at the 
village. 

Anthony Foster fled on their entrance ; and, 
knowing each corner and pass of the intricate old 
house, escaped all search. But Varney was taken 
on the spot ; and, instead of expressing compunction 
for what he had done, seemed to take a fiendish 
pleasure in pointing out to them the remains of 
the murdered Countess, while at the same time he 
defied them to show that he had any share in her 
death. The despairing grief of Tressilian, on view- 
ing the mangled and yet warm remains of what had 
lately been so lovely and so beloved, was such, that 
Raleigh was compelled to have him removed from 


KENILWORTH. 


the place by force, while he himself assumed the 
direction of what was to be done. 

Varney, upon a second examination, made very 
little mystery either of the crime or of its motives ; 
alleging, as a reason for his frankness, that though 
much of what he confessed could only have attached 
to him by suspicion, yet such suspicion would have 
been sufficient to deprive him of Leicester’s confi- 
dence, and to destroy all his towering plans of 
ambition. “ I was not born,” he said, “ to drag on 
the remainder of life a degraded outcast, — nor will 
I so die, that my fate shall make a holiday to the 
vulgar herd.” 

From these words it was apprehended he had 
some design upon himself, and he was carefully 
deprived of all means by which such could be car- 
ried into execution. But like some of the heroes of 
antiquity, he carried about his person a small quan- 
tity of strong poison, prepared probably by the cele- 
brated Demetrius Alasco. Having swallowed this 
potion over-night, he was found next morning dead 
in his cell; nor did he appear to have suffered much 
agony, his countenance presenting, even in death, the 
habitual expression of sneering sarcasm, which was 
predominant while he lived. “ The wicked man,” 
saith Scripture, “ hath no bonds in his death.” 

The fate of his colleague in wickedness was long 
unknown. Cumnor Place was deserted immedi- 
ately after the murder ; for, in the vicinity of what 
was called the Lady Dudley’s Chamber, the domes- 
tics pretended to hear groans, and screams, and 
other supernatural noises. After a certain length 
of time, Janet, hearing no tidings of her father, be- 
came the uncontrolled mistress of his property, and 
conferred it with her hand upon Way land, now a 


352 


KENILWORTH. 


man of settled character, and holding a place in 
Elizabeth’s household. But it was after they had 
been both dead for some years, that their eldest son 
and heir, in making some researches about Cumnor 
Hall, discovered a secret passage, closed by an iron 
door, which, opening from behind the bed in the 
Lady Dudley’s Chamber, descended to a sort of cell, 
in which they found an iron chest containing a quan- 
tity of gold, and a human skeleton stretched above 
it. The fate of Anthony Foster was now manifest. 
He had fled to this place of concealment, forgetting 
the key of the spring-lock ; and being barred from 
escape, by the means he had used for preservation 
of that gold, for which he had sold his salvation, he 
had there perished miserably. Unquestionably the 
groans and screams heard by the domestics were not 
entirely imaginary, but were those of this wretch, 
who, in his agony, was crying for relief and succour. 

The news of the Countess’s dreadful fate put a 
sudden period to the pleasures of Kenilworth. 
Leicester retired from court, and for a considerable 
time abandoned himself to his remorse. But as 
Varney in his last declaration had been studious to 
spare the character of his patron, the Earl was the 
object rather of compassion than resentment. The 
Queen at length recalled him to court ; he was once 
more distinguished as a statesman and favourite, 
and the rest of his career is well known to history. 
But there was something retributive in his death, if, 
according to an account very generally received, it 
took place from his swallowing a draught of poison, 
which was designed by him for another person . 1 

Sir Hugh Robsart died very soon after his daugh- 
ter, having settled his estate on Tressilian. But 
1 Note III. — Death of the ISarl of Leicester. 


ONIL WORTH. 


353 

neither the prospect of rural independence, nor the 
promises of favour which Elizabeth held out to in- 
duce him to follow the court, could remove his pro- 
found melancholy. Wherever he went, he seemed 
to see before him the disfigured corpse of the early 
and only object of his affection. At length, having 
made provision for the maintenance of the old friends 
and old servants who formed Sir Hugh’s family at 
Lidcote Hall, he himself embarked with his friend 
Raleigh for the Virginia expedition, and, young in 
years but old in grief, died before his day in that 
foreign land. 

Of inferior persons it is only necessary to say, 
that Blount’s wit grew brighter as his yellow roses 
faded ; that, doing his part as a brave commander 
in the wars, he was much more in his element than 
during the short period of his following the court; 
and that Flibbertigibbet’s acute genius raised him 
to favour and distinction, in the employment both 
of Burleigh and Cecil. 







AUTHOR’S NOTES. 


Note I., p. 18 . — Dr. Julio. 

The Earl of Leicester’s Italian physician, Julio, was affirmed 
by his contemporaries to be a skilful compounder of poisons, 
which he applied with such frequency, that the Jesuit Parsons 
extols ironically the marvellous good luck of this great favour- 
ite in the opportune deaths of those who stood in the way of 
his wishes. There is a curious passage on the subject : 

“ Long after this, he fell in love with the Lady Sheffield, 
whom I signified before, and then also had he the same fortune 
to have her husband dye quickly, with an extreme rheume 
in his head, (as it was given out,) but as others say, of an 
artificiall catarre, that stopped his breath. 

“ The like good chance had he in the death of my Lord of 
Essex, (as I have said before,) and that at a time most fortu- 
nate for his purpose ; for when he was coming home from 
Ireland, with intent to revenge himselfe upon my Lord of 
Leicester for begetting his wife with childe in his absence, (the 
childe was a daughter, and brought up by the Lady Shandoes, 
W. Knooles his wife,) my Lord of Leicester hearing thereof, 
wanted not a friend or two to accompany the deputy, as among 
other a couple of the Earles own servants, Crompton, (if I 
misse not his name,) yeoman of his bottles, and Lloid his 
secretary, entertained afterward by my Lord of Leicester, and 
so he dyed in the way, of an extreme fluxe, caused by an 
Italian receipe, as all his friends are well assured, the maker 
whereof wag a chyrurgeon (as it is beleeved) that then was 
newly come to my Lord from Italy, — a cunning man and 
sure in operation, with whom, if the good Lady had been 
sooner acquainted, and used his help, she should not have 
needed to sitten so pensive at home, and fearefull of her 
husband’s former returne out of the same country. . . . 


AUTHOR’S NOTES. 


3 56 

Neither must you marvaile though all these died in divers 
manners of outward diseases, for this is the excellency of the 
Italian art, for which this chyrurgian and Dr. Julio were 
entertained so carefully, who can make a man dye in what 
manner or show of sicknesse you will — by whose instructions, 
no doubt ; but his lordship is now cunning, especially adding 
also to these the counsell of his Doctor Bayly, ( e ) a man also 
not a little studied (as he seemeth) in his art ; for I heard 
him once myselfe, in a publique act in Oxford, and that in 
presence of my Lord of Leicester, (if I be not deceived,) main- 
tain, that poyson might be so-tempered and given as it should 
not appear presently, and yet should kill the party afterward, 
at what time should be appointed; which argument belike 
pleased well his lordship, and therefore was chosen to be dis- 
cussed in his audience, if I be not deceived of his being that 
day present. So, though one dye of a flux, and another of a 
catarre, yet this importeth little to the matter, but showeth 
rather the great cunning and skill of the artificer.” — Par- 
sons’s Leicester's Commonwealth , p. 23. 

It is unnecessary to state the numerous reasons why the 
Earl is represented in the tale as being rather the dupe of 
villains, than the unprincipled author of their atrocities. In 
the latter capacity, which a part at least of his contemporaries 
imputed to him, he would have made a character too disgust- 
ingly wicked, to he useful for the purposes of fiction. 

I have only to add, that the union of the poison.er, the 
quacksalver, the alchymist, and the astrologer, in the same 
person, was familiar to the pretenders to the mystic sciences. 


Note II., p. 211. — Furniture of Kenilworth. 

In revising this work for the present edition, I have had 
the means of making some accurate additions to my attempt 
to describe the princely pleasures of Kenilworth, by the 
kindness of my friend William Hamper, Esq., who had the 
goodness to communicate to me an inventory of the furniture 
of Kenilworth in the days of the magnificent Earl of Leicester. 
I have adorned the text with some of the splendid articles 
mentioned in the inventory, but antiquaries, especially, will 
be desirous to see a more full specimen than the story leaves 
room for. 


AUTHOR’S NOTES. 


357 


Extracts from Kenilworth Inventory, a. d. 1584. 

. A Salte, ship-fashion, of the mother of perle, garnished with 
silver and divers workes, warlike-ensignes, and ornaments, 
with xvj peeces of ordinance, whereof ij on wheles, two 
anckers on the foreparte, and on the stearne the image of 
Dame Fortune standing on a globe with a flag in her hand. 
Pois xxxij oz. 

A gilt salte like a swann, mother of perle. Pois xxx oz. iij 
quarters. 

A George on horseback, of wood, painted and gilt, with a 
case for knives in the tayle of the horse, and a case for oyster 
knives in the brest of the Dragon, 

A green barge-cloth, embrother’d with white lions and 
beares. 

A perfuming pann, of silver. Pois xix oz. 

In the halle. Tabells, long and short, vj. Forms, long and 
short, xiiij. 


Hangings. 

(These are minutely specified, and consisted of the following 
subjects, in tapestry, and gilt and red leather.) 

Flowers, beasts, and pillars arched. Forest worke. Historie. 
Storie of Susanna, the Prodigall Childe, Saule, Tobie, Her- 
cules, Lady Fame, Hawking and Hunting, Jezabell, Judith 
and Holofernes, David, Abraham, Sampson, Hippolitus, Alex- 
ander the Great, Naaman the Assyrian, Jacob, &c. 


Bedsteds, with their Furniture. 

(These are magnificent and numerous. I shall copy, verbatim , 
the description of what appears to have been one of the best.) 

A bedsted of wallnut-tree, toppe fashion, the pillers redd 
and varnished, the ceelor, tester, and single vallance of crimson 
sattin, paned with a broad border of bone lace of golde and 
silver. The tester richlie embrothered with my Lo armes in 
a garland of hoppes, roses, and pomegranetts, and lyned with 
buckerom. Fyve curteins of crimson sattin to the same bed- 
sted, striped downe with a bone lace of gold and silver, 


3S« 


AUTHOR’S NOTES. 


garnished with buttons and loops of crimson silk and golde, 
containing xiiij bredths of sattin, and one yarde iij quarters 
deepe. The celor, vallance, and curteins lyned with crymson 
taffata sarsenet. 

A crymson sattin counterpointe, quilted and embr. with a 
golde twiste, and lyned with redd sarsenet, being in length 
iij yards good, and in breadth iij scant. 

A chaise of crymson sattin, suteable. 

A fayre quilte of crymson sattin, vj breadths, iij yardes 3 
quarters naile deepe, all lozenged over with silver twiste, in 
the midst a cinquefoile within a garland of ragged staves, 
fringed round aboute with a small fringe of crymson silke, 
lyned throughe with white fustian. 

Fyve plumes of coolered feathers, garnished with bone lace 
and spangells of goulde and silver, standing in cups 1 knitt 
all over with goulde, silver, and crymson silk. 

A carpett for a cupboarde of crymson sattin, embrothered 
with a border of goulde twiste, about iij parts of it fringed 
with silk and goulde, lyned with bridges 2 sattin, in length ij 
yards, and ij bredths of sattin. 

(There were eleven down beds and ninety feather beds, be- 
sides thirty-seven mattresses.) 

Chayres, Stooles, and Cushens. 

(These were equally splendid with the beds, &c. I shall here 
copy that which stands at the head of the list.) 

A chaier ol crimson velvet, the seate and backe partlie 
embrothered, with R. L. in cloth of goulde, the beare and 
ragged staffe in clothe of silver, garnished with lace and fringe 
of goulde, silver, and crimson silck. The frame covered with 
velvet, bounde aboute the edge with goulde lace, and studded 
with gilt nailes. 

A square stoole and a foote stoole, of crimson velvet, fringed 
and garnished suteable. 

A long cushen of crimson velvet, embr. with the ragged 
staffe in a wreathe of goulde, with my Lo. posie “ Droyte et 

1 Probably on the centre and four corners of the bedstead. Four 
bears and ragged staves occupied a similar position on another of 
these sumptuous pieces of furniture. 


AUTHOR’S NOTES. 


359 


Loyall ” written in the same, and the letters R. L. in clothe of 
goulde, being garnished with lace, fringe, buttons, and tassels, 
of gold, silver, and crimson silck, lyned with crimson taff., 
being in length 1 yard quarter. 

A square cushen, of the like velvet, embr. suteable to the 
long cushen. 

\ 

Carpets. 

(There were 10 velvet carpets for tables and windows, 49 

Turkey carpets for floors, and 32 cloth carpets. One of each 

I will now specify.) 

A carpett of crimson velvet, richly embr. with my Lo. posie, 
beares and ragged staves, &c., of clothe of goulde and silver, 
garnished upon the seames and aboute with golde lace, fringed 
accordinglie, lyned with crimson taffata sarsenett, being 3 
breadths of velvet, one yard 3 quarters long. 

A great Turquoy carpett, the grounde blew, with a list of 
yelloe at each end, being in length x yards, in bredthe iiij 
yards and quarter. 

A long carpett of blew clothe, lyned with bridges sattin, 
fringed with blew silck and goulde, in length vj yards lack a 
quarter, the whole bredth of the clothe. 


Pictures. 

(Chiefly described as having curtains.) 

The Queene’s Majestie, (2 great tables.) 3 of my Lord. St. 
Jerome. Lo. of Arundell. Lord Mathevers. Lord of Pem- 
broke. Counte Egmondt. The Queene of Scotts. King 
Philip. The Baker’s Daughters. The Duke of Feria. Alex- 
ander Magnus. Two Yonge Ladies. Poinpsea Sabina. Fred. 
D. of Saxony. Emp. Charles. K. Philip’s Wife. Prince of 
Orange and his Wife. Marq. of Berges and his Wife. Counte 
de Horne. Count Holstrate. Monsr. Brederode. Duke Alva. 
Cardinal Grandville. Duches of Parma. Henrie E. of Pem- 
brooke and his young Countess. Countis of Essex. Occacion 
and Repentance. Lord Mowntacute. Sir Jas. Crofts. Sir 
Wr. Mildmay. Sr. Wm. Pickering. Edwin Abp. of York. 

A tabell of an bistorie of men, women, and children, molden 

in 


AUTHOR’S NOTES. 


360 

A little foulding table of ebanie, garnished with white bone, 
wherein are written verses with Ires, of goulde. 

A table of my Lord’s armes. 

Fyve of the plannetts, painted in frames. 

Twentie- three cardes, 1 or maps of countries. 


Instruments. 

(I shall give two specimens.) 

An instrument of organs, regalls, and virginalls, covered 
with crimson velvet, and garnished with goulde lace. 

A fair pair of double virginalls. 


Cabonetts. 

A cabonett of crimson sattin, richlie embr. with a device of 
hunting the stagg, in goulde, silver, and silck, with iiij glasses 
in the topp thereof, xvj cupps of flowers made of goulde, silver, 
and silck, in a case of leather, lyned with greene sattin of 
bridges. 

(Another of purple velvet. A desk of red leather.) 

A Chess Borde of ebanie, with checkars of christall and 
other stones, layed with silver, garnished with beares and rag- 
ged staves, and cinquefoiles of silver. The xxxij men likewyse 
of christall and other stones sett, the one sort in silver white, 
the other gilte, in a case gilded and lyned with green cotton. 

(Another of bone and ebanie. A pair of tabells of bone.) 

A great Brason Candlestick to hang in the roofe of 
the howse, verie fayer and curiouslye wrought, with xxiiij 
branches, xij greate and xij of lesser size, 6 rowlers and ij wings 
for the spreade eagle, xxiiij socketts for candells, xij greater 
and xij of a lesser sorte, xxiiij sawcers, or candle-cupps, of like 
proporcion to put under the socketts, iij images of men and 
iij of weomen, of brass, verie finely and artificially done. 

These specimens of Leicester’s magnificence may serve to 
assure the reader that it scarce lay in the power of a modern 
author to exaggerate the lavish style of expense displayed iu 
the princely pleasures of Kenilworth. 


1 i. 4. Charts. 


AUTHOR’S NOTES. 


361 


Note III., p. 352. — Death of the Earl of Leicester. 

In a curious manuscript copy of the information given by 
Ben Jonson to Drummond of Hawthornden, as abridged by 
Sir Robert Sibbald, Leicester’s death is ascribed to poison 
administered as a cordial by his countess, to whom he had 
given it, representing it to be a restorative in any faintness, in 
the hope that she herself might be cut off by using it.. We 
have already quoted Jonson’s account of this merited stroke of 
retribution in a note, pp. xxxii. — xxxiii. of Introduction to the 
present work. It may be here added, that the following satiri- 
cal epitaph on Leicester occurs in Drummond’s Collections, 
but is evidently not of his composition : 

EPITAPH ON THE ERLE OF LEISTER. 

Here lies a valiant warriour, 

Who never drew a sword ; 

Here lies a noble courtier, 

Who never kept his word ; 

Here lies the Erie of Leister, 

Who govern’d the estates, 

Whom the earth could never living love^ 

And the just Heaven now hates. 





































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EDITOR’S NOTES. 


(а) p. 39. “ Way land Smith and Amy.” From accounts 

found at Longleat, and published by Canon Jackson, it is, plain 
that, whatever Amy had to complain of, at least she had 
copious supplies of dresses, jewels, and “ feminine furniture.” 

(б) p. 43. “ Lex Julia.” The chief Roman law against 

poisoning was the Lex Cornelia de Sicariis et Yeneficis (b.c. 
83). 

(c) p. 218. “ Divine Duchess of dark corners.” Cp. Shak- 

speare’s “ duke of dark corners ” in “ Measure for Measure.” 

( d ) p. 236. “ Lord Hunsdon.” Son of William Cary and 

Lady Mary Boleyn. He, as Governor of Berwick, defeated 
Leonard Dacres, who had risen for Queen Mary and seized 
Naworth Castle. The Queen wrote to him as “ my Harry.” 
“ His Latin and dissimulation were alike ” — he had none of 
either (Naunton, “ Fragmenta Regalia,” p. 102). Naunton 
speaks of his freedom of language, reproved in the novel by the 
Dean of St. Asaph. 

(e) p. 356. “ Dr. Bayly.” This alleged accomplice of Lei- 
cester’s is not the man who, according to Ashmole, declined to 
give opportunity for poisoning Lady Robert Dudley. There 
was a Bayly junior, who is the person here spoken of. 

Andrew Lang. 


July 1893. 














> 




APPENDIX. 


[The following extract from “ Leicester’s Common- 
wealth ” (8vo edition, 1641) may be compared with 
what Scott quotes from Ashmole in his Introduction. 

“For first his Lordship hath a special! fortune that 
when he desireth any woman’s favour, then what per- 
son soever standeth in his way hath the luck to dye 
quickly for the finishing of his desire. 

“ As for example when his Lordship was in hope to 
marry her Majesty, and his own wife stood in his light 
as he supposed, he did but send her aside to the house 
of his servant Forster of Cumnor by Oxford, where 
shortly after she had the chance to fall from a pair of 
stairs and to break her neck, but yet without hurt- 
ing of her hood that stood upon her head. But Sir 
Bichard Varney, who by commandment remained with 
her that day alone, with one man only, and had sent 
away perforce all her servants from her to a market 
two miles off, he (I say) with his man can tell how 
she died, which man being taken afterward for a fel- 
lony in the marches of Wales, and offering to publish 
the manner of the said murder, was made away privily 
in the prison: and Sir Bichard himself dying about 
the same time in London, cried piteously and blas- 
phemed God, and said to a gentleman of worship of 
mine acquaintance, not long before his death, that all 
the devils of hell did teare him in pieces. The wife 
also of Bald Buttler, kinsman to my Lord, gave out 
the whole fact a little before her death. But to return 
unto my purpose, this was my Lord’s good fortune to 
have his wife die at that time, when it was like to 
turne most to his profit. 


3 66 


APPENDIX. 


“ But yet (quoth the Gentleman) I had rather of the 
two be his wife, for the time, than his guest, especially 
if the Italian Chyrurgean or Physitian be at hand. 

“ True it is (said the Lawyer), for he doth not poison 
his wives, whereof I somewhat mervaile, especially 
his first wife; I muse why he chose rather to make 
her away by open violence, than by some Italian 
consortive. 

“ Hereof (said the Gentleman) may be divers reasons 
alleaged. First that he was not at that time so skilfull 
in those Italian wares, nor had about him so fit Phy- 
sitians and Chyrurgions for the purpose: nor yet in 
truthe doe I thinke that his mind was so settled then 
in mischiefe, as it hath been sithence For you know 
that men are not desperate the first day, but doe enter 
into wickednesse be degrees, and with some doubt or 
staggering of conscience at the beginning. And so he 
at that time might be desirous to have his wife made 
away, for that she letted him in his designements, but 
yet not so stony hearted as to appoint out the particu- 
lar manner of her death, but rather to leave that to the 
discretion of the murderer. Secondly, it is also not 
unlike that he prescribed unto Sir Richard Varney at 
his going thither, that he should first attempt to kill 
her by poyson, and if that tooke not place, then by any 
other way to despatch her howsoever. This I prove by 
the report of old Doctor Bayly, who then lived in Ox- 
ford (another manner of man than he who now liveth 
about my Lord of the same name), and was Professor 
of the Physicke Lecture in the same University. This 
learned grave man reported for most certaine that there 
was a practice in Cumnor among the conspiratours to 
have poyson ed the poore Lady a little before she was 
killed, which was attempted in this order [Here fol- 
lows textually the statement in Ashmole about Dr. 
Bayly of Oxford, as quoted by Scott.] 

“ A third cause of this manner of the Ladies death 
may be the disposition of my Lord’s nature, which is 


APPENDIX. 


367 


bold and violent where it feareth no resistance (as all 
cowardly natures are by kinds), and where any diffi- 
culty of danger appeareth, there, more ready *0 attempt 
all by art, subtility, treason, and treachery. And so 
for that he doubted no great resistance in the poore 
Lady to withstand the hands of them that should offer 
to break her neck he durst thj bonier attempt the 
same openly.” — Ed.] 















I 

* 

















GLOSSARY 


Abye, to suffer for. 

Accolade, a slap with the flat 
blade of a sword. 

“ Acolyte of chivalry,” an at- 
tendant or junior assistant in 
a ceremony ; a novice. 

An, if. 

Angel, a gold coin = 10s. 

Antic, ludicrous, clownish. 

Arrow, e’er a, ever a. 

Artist, a craftsman, an artisan. 

Baby, a small image of self re- 
flected in the eye of another. 

Barbed, caparisoned. 

Base, a plaited skirt sometimes 
imitated in mailed armour. 

“ Bear the bell,” take the first 
place. 

Beaver, the hat, or part of hel- 
met, made of heaver-fur. 

Beshrew, mischief take ! 

Besognio, a worthless fellow. 

Billets, wood cut for fuel. 

“ Blood and nails,” thirty-two 
nails said to have been used at 
the Crucifixion have been pre- 
served as relics. 

“Body o’ me,” a current oath 
in the reign of Elizabeth. 

Bona-roba, a wench, a showy 
wanton. 

Botcher, a cobbler, a tailor who 
does repairs. 

Bratchet, a little brat. 

Breech, to flog. 

Cameradoes, comrades. 

Camiciee, shirts. 

Capotaine, a close-fitting hat. 


Cast, specimen, sort. 

“ Casting bottle,” a bottle for 
sprinkling perfumed waters. 

Cheney, cotton. 

Chuff, a miser. 

Clout, a piece of leather or cloth ; 
a rag. 

“ Cock and pie,” an oath con- 
sisting of an adjuration of the 
Deity and the Roman Catholic 
service book. 

Codling, an unripe apple. 

Codshead, a fool. 

Coelebs, unwed. 

Cogsbones ! God’s bones ! 

Coif, a headdress. 

Coil, noise, bustle. 

Combust, an astrological term 
applied to a planet when it is 
near to the su i. 

Corragio, courage. 

Cricket, a four-legged stool. 

Cross, a silve^coiu marked with 
a cross. m 

Cymar, a light. covering, a scarf. 

Dan, a title of honour common 
with the old poets. 

Dandieprat, a dwarf, an ur- 
chin. 

Decoct, to boil down. 

“ Died without his shoes,” i.e. 
in bed. 

Dink, trim, tidy. 

Dirl, to thrill, to vibrate. 

Distemperature, disorder, fail- 
ing. 

Do, put. 

Douse, a blow, a stroke. 
Drawers, waiters. 


GLOSSARY. 


370 

E’en, even. 

Faitour, a rogue, a hypocrite. 

“ Fall back fall edge,” come 
what may. 

“Falling band,” a collar over- 
lying the shoulders. 

Farcy, a disease of horses. 

Felly, in a fell manner, savagely. 

Femoral, about the thighs. 

Ferrateen, a stuff of mixed wool 
and silk, a kind of poplin. 

Fleering, scornful, contemptu- 
ous. 

“Flesh and fell,” muscle and 
skin. 

“ Followers of Minerva,” those 
who have address and intelli- 
gence. 

Foul, of little value. 

Founders, a disease of horses. 

Fox, old slang for the broad- 
sword. 

Galloon, worsted. 

Gambade, gambol. 

Gharn, a garden. 

“ Give the good time of day,” 
salute in a friendly way. 

Gossip, a sponsor, a friend. 

Grave, a judicial officer. 

“ Happy man be his dole,” 
happy be he who succeeds best. 

Hays, an intricate country dance. 

Head-borough^ head of a bor- 
ough, a petty constable. 

Heart-spone, the depression in 
the breast-bone ; the breast- 
bone. 

Heys, an intricate country dance. 

Hilding, a fellow with no spirit, 
a coward. 

Hobby-horse, a morris-dancer 
made up as a horse, and imi- 
tating its action. 

Hocktide, the first or second 
week following Easter week. 

Holland, linen from the Nether- 
lands. 

Holped, helped. 

Hose, breeches. 


Incontinent, immediately. 

Infidel, a term of strong con- 
tempt. 

Infortune, misfortune. 

Ingle, a favourite, a friend. 

Ivy-tod, an ivy-bush. 

Jack, a metal pitcher, a black- 
jack. 

Jowring, scolding, cursing. 

Judicial, foretelling human af 
fairs. 

J uvenal, a youth. 

“ King Cambyses’ vein,” rant- 
ingly. 

Kirtle, a gown, mantle, or pet- 
ticoat. 

“ Lay you up in lavender,” in 
prison. 

Leman, a mistress. 

List, to wish, to choose. 

Littocks, rags and tatters. 

Make-bate, a causer of quar 
rels. 

“Manna of Saint Nicholas,” a 
colourless and tasteless poison. 

“ Manner, in the,” in the act. 

“ Man of art,” a man of know- 
ledge. 

Mocado, mock velvet. 

Mop, to make a wry mouth. 

Moppet, a pretty young girl. 

Mowing, making grimaces. 

Musquetoon, a light short hand 
gun. 

Nether-stock, a stocking. 

Noble, a gold coin = 6s. 8 d. 

O’, on. 

Oaf, a blockhead, a simpleton. 

Odds, God’s. 

“ On the square,” honestly 
openly. 

Oons, zounds. 

Ordinary, an eating-house. 

Pantoufle, a slipper. 

Farapa, a word used by Taylor, 


GLOSSARY. 


37i 


the Water Poet, in his “ Praise 
of Hemp-seed.” 

Parcel, partly. 

Partlet, a neckerchief. 

Paynim, a pagan. 

“ Philosopher’s stone,” the 
great elixir for transmuting 
base metal into gold. 

Picaroon, one who lives by his 
wits, a rogue. 

‘‘Place of removal,” a cell, or 
place of confinement. 

Points, fine lace. 

Possess, to inform fully. 

Posset, a drink of hot milk cur- 
dled by an infusion of wine. 

Pot-herbs, vegetables. 

Pottle-pot, a vessel holding two 
quarts. 

Practice, artifice, stratagem. 

Precisian, puritan. 

Projection, transmuting a metal. 

“ Provant rapier,” a sword sup- 
plied from the army stores. 

Puckfoist, niggard. 

“Pusey Horn,” the horn of an 
ox or buffalo given by Canute 
to the ancestor of the owners 
of Pusey, a village in Berk- 
shire. 

“ Put the change on,” to de- 
ceive, to mislead. 


Quacksalver, a quack. 


Rabatine, a small ruff. 

Raddle, to banter, to thrash. 
Rash, a species of inferior silk, 
or possibly crape. 

Ratsbane, poison for rats. 
Reeve, a steward. 

Ruffle, to riot, to create a dis- 
turbance. 


Sae, so. 

Sarsenet, thin woven silk. 
Sconce, a fort. 

Scroyle, a mean fellow, a wretch. 
Settle, a bench. 


Sewer, a head butler. 

Seye, a drinking-vessel, a goblet 

Shag, a sort of rough cloth. 

Shalm, a sort of pipe, resembling 
a hautboy. 

Shot- window, a window project- 
ing from a wall, used for de- 
fence. 

“ Sieve and shears,” divination 
by means of a sieve fixed to 
the point of a pair of shears. 

Skill, know. 

Slocket, to convey things pri- 
vately. 

Smock-faced, of girlish face or 
complexion. 

’Snails, an oath. 

“ Snick up,” be hanged. 

Solemn, important. 

Something, somewhat. 

Sped, brought to destruction, 
ruined. 

Springe, a noose, a gin, a snare. 

Stance, a station. 

“ Stand shot,” pay the reckon- 
ing. 

Staple, a settled market, an em- 
porium. 

Start, to move, to pour out. 

Startup, a high-topped shoe. 

Stock, a stocking. 

Strappado, a military punish- 
ment in which the offender 
was drawn to the top of a beam 
and let fall. 

“ Strike up,” to cause to sound 


Taffeta, silk stuff. 

“ Take order,” to take suitable 
steps, or position. 

Taking, distress, agitation. 

“ Tent stitch,” a fancy stitch in 
worsted work. 

Tippet, a length of twisted hair , 
also, a short cloak. 

Tod, a bush, thick scrub. 

Touched, speak of. 

Trencher, a wooden plate. 

Troth, truth. 

Trunk-hose, large breeches 
reaching to the knee. 


372 


GLOSSARY. 


Truss, to tie the tagged laces 
which fastened the breeches to 
the doublet. 

Uds, God’s. 

Un’s, his. 

Vengeably, terribly. 

Virginal, an old-fashioned piano. 


Wain, a cart, a waggon. 
Waistcoat, once a part of female 
attire. 

Wassail, spiced ale or wine. 
Watchet, pale blue. 

Wench, a young woman, a hand 
maid. 

Wittol, cuckold. 


THE END, 


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